


The Bastard Of Winterfell

by cxinsplokesh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Pre-Canon, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-06-26 20:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 53,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15670404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxinsplokesh/pseuds/cxinsplokesh
Summary: After the mutiny at Castle Black, Jon is offered a choice by the Old Gods. In a moment of panic he chooses going somewhere he hadn't imagined.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Dragon of the North](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/406194) by Droman. 



> Disclaimer: The main characters and themes of this work belong to George R. R. Martin.  
> In addition this work is also inspired by "The Dragon of the North" by Droman posted at Sufficient Velocity. The said work is a crossover between ASOIAF and Skyrim. However, as I'm not familiar with the Skyrim universe this work will not resemble it, much.
> 
> Italicized text from "A Dance with Dragons"

_He saw the glint of steel, turned toward it. “No blades!” he screamed. “Wick, put that knife …” … away, he meant to say. When Wick Whittlestick slashed at his throat, the word turned into a grunt. Jon twisted from the knife, just enough so it barely grazed his skin. He cut me. When he put his hand to the side of his neck, blood welled between his fingers. “Why?” “For the Watch.” Wick slashed at him again. This time Jon caught his wrist and bent his arm back until he dropped the dagger. The gangling steward backed away, his hands upraised as if to say, Not me, it was not me. Men were screaming. Jon reached for Longclaw, but his fingers had grown stiff and clumsy. Somehow he could not seemto get the sword free of its scabbard. Then Bowen Marsh stood there before him, tears running down his cheeks. “For the Watch.” He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it. Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold..._

Cold and dark. Why is it so cold here? What place is this? Am I dead? Is this what death feels like?

Surprisingly, the idea of his death didn’t scare Jon too much. He’s had too many regrets while living to do so. All his life he’d been told that those who die find peace in death. But Jon wasn’t at peace. How could he? He never had the time to properly mourn the demise of his father, brothers, even Lady Catelyn for she was family, in an obtuse kind of way. His sisters. Sansa. Arya. His little sister. His favorite person in the whole world. There was a time when Jon felt proud of his choice staying at the Wall. Now he wasn’t so sure. Would that he could turn back the time and keep his entire family safe. Would he? Could he? That was one question he really wanted answered.

“Is that what you want?”

“Who’s that?”

“That’s immaterial. You’ve were asked a question, now answer. Is that what you want?”

“Is what I want?”

“To go back?”

“Go back where?”

“That’s for you to decide”

“Who are you?”

Silence. Nothing. Jon said a silent prayer to his Gods. What is this? Some kind of jape being played at his expense? But he’s supposed to be dead. He knows he doesn’t even have a body ‘cause he can’t sense shit. But then how come someone who ain’t alive feel cold? Bugger it. This is neither here not there.

“Hey?”

“Hmm?”

“I want it”

“You want what?”

“To go back”

“And do what?”

“To protect my family.”

“Your family’s fate is sealed and beyond your help. But you can change yours.”

“..?”

“What’s the point in changing my fate if I can’t save my family?”

“You are your own man. You are not defined by your family or rather what you think to be your family.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

“It means that you know nothing Jon Snow.”

Jon’s temper flared but in an emasculated, impotent sort of way. That was the truth, wasn’t it. Ygritte was right. Every. Fucking. Time. He didn’t knew shit. But he could try.

“What’s your deal?”

“Tis not a deal. Your time’s not up yet. So you can either be sent back or you could be sent back back. What do you choose?”

“Is it just me or you make this offer to every single soul who had the misfortune to die this way?”

“There have been others, though, you won’t know them”

“Alright. I’ll go ba.. ba..back.. back”

All of a sudden he felt his entire being pressed from all sides, some kind of tunnel or tube squeezing the life out of him. For once he could feel his body but his senses were still somewhat dulled like waking after a heavy dose of poppy. His eyes were closed shut almost as if they were glued, chest constricting so tight he could hardly breathe. Breathe.? He’s dead. or at least supposed to be?

Then almost as if someone forcibly dragged him out of the tunnel, the pressure around him was released and he found himself crying himself hoarse at the top of his lungs. Almost instantaneously his ears are barraged by a cacophony of different sounds. Is that a sword-fight? Gods what the hell is happening? He found himself manhandled for a while, being cleaned with a warm wet towel then wrapped in something soft, warm and cottony. Once his eyes felt clean he could sense the light around him. Then being handed over to another who tucked him under an arm. Gingerly he opened his eyes and found himself staring at a pair of warm, tired but smiling pair of grey eyes of a woman. Something inside his heart whispered..

 

Mother.. 


	2. Journey to Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Tower of Joy to Winterfell

Grey eyes!!!

Like mine.

Like Arya's.

Like father's. Wait. This woman looks like me and Arya and Father. She's supposed to be my mother. Is she who I think she is?

Eddard Stark answered the question under which Jon has spent his entire past life reeling under. 

Lyanna!!!

Jon wasn't sure what happened next. He was too disoriented by the revelation of his parentage. Once he'd been fed and slept and cleaned and fed and slept again. He pondered over his fate. He's the son of Lyanna Stark. That means Eddard Stark isn’t his father. Then who? Of course. Rhaegar. Fucking. Targeryn.

No wonder his fa…uncle had to claim him as his bastard. He vaguely remembered his mother extracting a promise from his uncle to keep him safe. If the tales he heard of the rebellion were true, Robert Baratheon would have smashed his head just like his half-brother Aegon. 

To say that Jon was surprised to finally know the identity of his mother would be a massive understatement. He had spent his entire past life wondering over this. So much so that his entire being was held hostage to it. Who am I? He had been the notorious bastard of Winterfell for the entirety of his life. The sole stain on the otherwise pristine honour of his Lord father and after chafing under it for more than a decade, he was able to embrace it only during the end. 

His musings were cut short when the party arrived at a castle. The sun was too strong here, they must be in Dorne. Father did fight the Kingsguard in Dorne, he recalled. He felt this piece of information was important for some reason. The way he was wrapped in blankets, it was difficult to get a view around. It's tedious as it is to maintain focus for longer durations for his tiny body needed rest and the conditions outside weren't helping.

For all that Jon could think like an adult, he was still a babe. His senses were severely restricted in the way he could feel or perceive the world around him. The fact that he spent almost the entire day and night sleeping, sucking, shitting, pissing and crying weren’t conducive in following a single line of thought.

After endlessly jostled from one saddle to another the party finally made a stop. The next couple of days passed in a haze. He distinctly remembered someone staring at him while he was in his crib but he was for once in a proper bed and couldn't be bothered. Alas, all good things end and once more he was sent on his way. A stunningly beautiful lady with dark hair and haunting violet eyes leaned over him and kissed his forehead. She looked sad. So did father.

Thankfully this time the ride was short and then they boarded something which he much later identified to be a ship. The rocking motion of the vessel helped in making him sleep, though admittedly there wasn’t much he could accomplish at this point of time.

A few days later…

The journey by sea is finally over and the party once again continues on horseback. The cold crisp air of the north hits him even though he is covered from head to toe in clothes and blanket. Jon’s earliest memories are of the cold, and the rhythmic walk of the horse he is riding alongside his wet-nurse is again lulling him into a drowsy state.

Eventually, the horses stop, and his wet-nurse dismounts, carefully ensuring that he is never jostled, never harmed. Once on ground Jon tries to have a look around but his vision is obstructed by the layers of clothing put on him but even in this state he is able to hear the magic words,..

 

 

“My Lord, Winterfell is yours.”


	3. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finds purpose in his new life.

Winterfell.

The only place Jon could call home but home is supposed to be the place where one belongs and Jon never belonged at Winterfell.

It was always meant for his half-siblings, or rather his cousins.

Jon had a faint idea that within a moon’s turn Lady Catelyn had arrived along with Robb but the babes were kept apart on her insistence. What harm could he have done at this age was beyond him.

Off late Jon had started dreaming about his past life. While mostly his dreams would be about the mundane day-to-day life he spent as the Bastard of Winterfell or the black brother of the wall, occasionally the dreams would show him the darker aspects of his life both beyond the wall and beneath it. Worst of all were the times when he had the nightmares of getting stabbed on. In these dreams the identity of his killers would alternate between his brothers from Night’s watch and his nearest known family and will almost always end when he would jolt awake crying hysterically.

Eventually Lady Stark softened enough to place Robb in the same nursery as Jon which he greatly appreciated though could not express. Robb’s presence had a calming effect on him. It was in a way the first tangible evidence which made Jon aware of the fact that it was not a second chance for him alone but House Stark as well. In the past six months of his existence he barely had the time, energy or inclination to think about the past or rather the future. Robb’s presence forced him to push his limits in this regard.

Jon had always been tenacious. While all his half-siblings had a childish reluctance to pursue things or activities they didn’t like, Jon was different. Whatever task was given to him he always strove hard to accomplish it. He often wondered whether it was his being bastard that prompted him to prove himself in each and every situation. Be that as it may, Jon was once again determined to overcome the limitations his age imposed on him.

Initially it was the physical movement. Rolling sideways, trying to sit upright, afterwards standing and finally walking. Despite him being younger than Robb, Jon mastered all in lesser time than him.

Next came speech. In less than 2 years Jon was speaking clearly, enunciating proper words and sentences to the surprise of everyone around. While Ned took it in his stride with nary an approving nod directed towards him occasionally, Lady Stark was not amused. While she tried her best to ignore him at the best of times, anybody drawing comparison between the cognitive abilities of the two supposed brothers drew her ire.

What aggravated an already bad situation was when at an age of three name days Robb was finally introduced to letters. Maestar Luwin brought Robb to his tower to start his training with letters and Jon tagged along. What came next was a surprise to Jon and shock to Maestar Luwin. As Jon was a few months younger than Robb, his training was supposed to start a little later. However, no sooner had Maestar Luwin taken out the basic book of letters for Robb to read, Robb playfully tossed it to Jon. Chuckling Jon grasped it and casually spelled out the words written on the cover. To say the Maestar was shocked would be an understatement of the year.   
  
Not believing he'd heard Jon the first time, Luwin asked him to repeat it. Jon himself was stunned. In all his musings about his past life he'd never thought he would have retained his ability to read, so he repeated what he'd said earlier mechanically. 

Two hours later Maestar Luwin had excused Robb from the day's lesson and dragged Jon before his lord father. The Lord of Winterfell was having a particularly tedious day as it is so when the good Maestar presented him with what had transpired in the maestar's tower Ned was dismissive at first. That was until Luwin gave one of the missive lying upon the table which contained the sordid details of wool received from Hornwood and Jon read aloud each and every item with the exact quantities written on the parchment.

  
Ned was flabbergasted. For almost an eternity nobody spoke. Finally, Ned gathered enough wits to order Luwin, "Nobody can know this Maestar. Especially not Catelyn." After instructing Luwin to carry out Jon's letter training in secret he was sent out. 

  
After the Maestar left, Eddard set his sight on Jon. Jon felt himself being examined like never before. It was as if Ned was trying to look inside his very soul. After a long time, Ned uttered a single word, "how?"

  
Jon was quite for a long while gathering his thoughts.

>   
>  "I have a theory"
> 
>   
>  "Alright. Go on."
> 
>   
>  "You won't believe me."
> 
>   
>  "Will you be telling the truth?"
> 
>   
>  "I'll try my best to explain it."
> 
>   
>  "Then I'll try my best to understand it."

So Jon explained everything. Right from the start. How he'd lived this particular life before. How their lives were torn apart when King Robert came to Winterfell. How he'd gone to the Wall trying desperately to earn a place for himself. How Ned had lost his head for the sake of his family. How Robb and Catelyn were killed in violation of sacred guest rights. How Bran and Rickon were murdered by someone who'd lived alongside them in Winterfell their entire lives. How Arya and Sansa were lost. How he'd mingled  with the wildlings at the command of Qhorin Halfhand. How he'd betrayed them for the watch. How the watch had betrayed him in the end. How he was denied peace at death and how he'd come back back.

  
By the time, Jon was finished, it was already dark outside. Twice a guard had come at the behest of Lady Stark to fetch his father and twice he'd gone empty handed. Lastly, Lady Stark had come herself and after expressing her displeasure for the late meeting had insisted on sending dinner to the Lord's solar. Lord Stark agreed and asked the same for Jon. 

  
They finished their dinner in silence. During the entire duration when Jon was telling his story Ned has kept silent, just asking a few seemingly inconsequential questions here and there like when the Greyjoys rebelled or when Jeor Mormont became Lord Commander. Jon replied to each question truthfully to the best of his knowledge.

The only time Ned visibly stiffened was when Jon told him the events of his birth. Once Jon has finished, Ned said, "I often wondered when you would start asking about your mother. Did I tell you, I mean in this past life?"

>   
>  "When we departed at the kingsroad, me going north to the wall and you going south to kingslanding I asked about my mother and you promised that you would tell me when we meet next. You never did."


	4. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned discusses the past with Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddard's POV

Jon was different.

He believed it had something to do with his eyes.

 

Eyes so much like his own.

 

So much like hers.

 

For all that Jon was a babe of less than 3 years, his gaze was that of a person way older. 

 

A person who'd seen things one shouldn't,  done things one shouldn't. 

 

Jon was surprisingly articulate for a child, way more than Robb who was the elder of the two. But while Robb would  babble endlessly, Jon barely spoke. Only on occasion, measuring each word before speaking as though each word was worth it's weight  in gold.

 

Now this.

 

Ned was in a way relieved to find some explanation behind Jon's astonishing growth. While Luwin had been mildly dismissive of it, Catelyn had been resentful, further holding it against Jon, attributing it to be another proof that bastard grow faster than trueborns and hence are to be scorned. However, the explanation offered by Jon wasn't what one would expect. The tale was to fantastical to be anything but truth. 

 

"You never did."

 

"You do realize why I did what I did?"

 

"Does it matter?"

 

"Of course it does."

 

"You never gave me a choice."

 

"I will not apologize for keeping you safe."

 

"That's not what I would call it."

 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

 

"You didn't keep me safe. You didn't keep Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon safe. You couldn't even keep yourself safe, and the moment you lost your head at the Sept of Badlo, house Stark was doomed."

 

And just like that the guilt of failing his father, brothers and sister returned. 

 

Robert was often called a usurper but at times Ned felt himself to be one too. He'd usurped Brandon's place hasn't he. They say no man is as accursed as a kinslayer but what of a man who benefits from a kins death without actually doing the deed.

 

"It's been a long day Jon, you need your sleep."

 

"Good night lord Stark."

 

Once Jon had been sent to his room, Ned made way to his own. For a brief moment he thought going to Catelyn but she was too far along in her second pregnancy and Ned wanted to avoid her stress than was strictly necessary. Moreover, it was his burden to carry and he wasn't about to shift it on anyone else. 

 

Lying in his bed silently staring at the ceiling, sleep was leagues away from Ned's eyes. Going back and forth on the story told by Jon, Ned deduced there was more to it. There were gaps in the stories. When were the kids born. When Robert came to Winterfell. How both Ned and Robert died. What happen to Jon Arryn. How many kids Robert had. What of Stannis and Renly. What of Hoster, Edmure or Brynden. He needed to hear out the whole story. Having reached a resolution Ned closed his eyes and waited for dawn to break.

 

Morning arrived sooner than he'd expected. After checking up on Robb and Catelyn, he went to his solar and instructed the guard on duty to send someone to bring breakfast for two. He summoned Jon soon after, hoping atleast one of them had slept well. The moment Jon arrived he knew that even that small hope was futile.

 

"Come Jon, have a seat."

 

"Father. I.. I'm sorry for yesterday."

 

"'Tis not your fault Jon. I understand your reasons. I just hope you understand mine."

 

"I do. Seriously, I do. It's just. It's been rather difficult bearing this burden for so long and I'm just thankful that you've been this receptive of my tale."

 

"Jon, I trust you. But there's something more I need to ask of you and I just hope you're up for it."

 

"I'll do anything for my family father."

 

"Good. Now I believe there's more to this tale of yours."

 

This time around Ned asked a lot more questions and Jon tried to answer them to the best of his ability but by the time a guard came and announced that lunch was ready they were still far from finished.

 

"I don't think we'll be able to finish this anytime soon."

 

"Hmm. I was wondering that you have retained your ability to read but can you write."

 

"I hope so."

 

"Let's find out."

 

Jon tried to write his name using a quill and parchment but managed a barely legible scrawl. 

 

"Just as I thought."

 

"What do you mean."

 

"What I mean is that though I believe you can write, your muscles are too young and untrained for the task. It'll take a lot of practice for you to attain a certain level of proficiency in writing."

 

"So??"

 

 

"That means tomorrow onwards you are going to sit alongside Robb under the supervision of Luwin and start your studies. For appearance sake. In your free time you'll practice both your reading and writing. We cannot take your abilities for granted. Once you are proficient enough you will write down all your experiences and details from the past life so that we can use it for reference at our convenience. It is my belief that as you grow older it'll become difficult for you to recall your past life and the sooner we write it down the better it'll be for everyone involved. It would be faster done with the help of a scribe but the lesser people know about this the better."

 

 

"But it could be months or even years by the time we're ready."

 

"That is why I'll be focusing on the earliest issue that affects us, Balon Greyjoy's Rebellion."

 

"As far as I can recall, they didn't really attack North the first time. The main areas they attacked were the Westerlands and Riverlands in general and Lannisport and Seagard in particular. It was only the second time after your death that Theon attacked Winterfell after Robb sent him to Pyke in good faith."

 

"That's because they must have felt that North had broken away from the Iron Throne and besides there's hardly anything of consequence for them in North. Westerlands and Riverlands are by far more greener pastures for them to raid and reave. Come it's getting late, let's have lunch. We'll discuss this later."


	5. A new arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's POV during the night and the day after.

The entire conversation had left Jon so drained that no sooner had he hit the bed, sleep claimed him.

 

By the time he woke up Sun was already high up in the sky. After freshening up he went to the kitchens to break his fast. As he was finishing his breakfast, he was summoned by his Lord father.

 

As he walked towards his father's solar he pondered over the conversation from the previous night. The harshness of his words left him red beneath the collar. The moment he entered he apologized for his bitter words. However, it seemed the Lord of Winterfell had other concerns on his mind. After spending almost half a day's time there was still too much which was left undiscussed. Still Jon was not the Lord Commander here, but a small child and the Lord's bastard to boot. As such he stuck to the agreement made with his Lord father and went towards the Great hall to have lunch.

 

Once they sat down for lunch they noted the absence of Lady Stark. Upon enquiry Lord Stark was told that the Lady of the house has insisted that he come to meet her only after having his lunch. Jon knew his father was concerned but chose to oblige his lady wife and only after finishing his lunch went to see her. Having nothing else to do himself Jon chose to join Robb in playing outside. 

 

It was a sunny day. Winter was giving way to spring and the days were steadily growing longer and warmer. As such both boys were spending more and more time outdoors. With winter officially still not over there were a lot of families staying at Winter Town. As such there was no dearth of kids of their own age to play with and new games to be played everyday. 

 

It was while playing one such game that Jon ran into a maid running towards the Great Keep with a bucket full of hot water. On a hunch Jon was about to follow her when he remembered what day of the year it was. He immediately ran upto Robb and dragged him towards his lady mother's room, where they found their Lord father anxiously pacing to and fro. 

 

Jon walked upto his father, pulled him down to his eye level and whispered a single word into his ear, 

 

 

"Sansa!!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short but key chapter which will have impact on upcoming events.


	6. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn's POV

The birth had gone easier than her previous one. Of course, the Maestar had insisted the first is always the hardest but the joy she felt in her heart both times had been incomparable. Most men and women pray for a spare to follow an heir. Catelyn wasn’t one of those, neither was Ned. His eyes were shining with tears when he first saw his daughter. After the birth, she’d heard the maids giggling behind her back how their quiet, solemn lord had been nervously pacing outside her birthing chamber. The moment her girl has announced her arrival to the world, red-faced and screaming at the top her tiny lungs, he’d burst into the room without care. He’s the one who’d named her. Sansa. A beautiful name for a beautiful child. If the light reddish fuzz on her head and blue eyes were any indication, she will have her looks. Just like Robb, who much like his father was entranced by his sister. Even the bastard had been practically bursting with glee, however hard he tried to appear contrite in her presence.

She breathed out through her nose with a long suffering sigh. She was beyond tired and needed her rest. Between Robb and now mostly Sansa she barely had any time to attend to herself let alone resuming her duties as the lady of the House. Ned has announced a week long feast inviting almost the entire Winter-Town within the Castle to celebrate Sansa’s birth, which co-incidentally had come with the arrival of spring. It was a good omen, or so the smallfolk were saying. Ned had been prudent enough not to invite his bannermen at the earliest. The ravens that have flown carrying the message of Sansa’s birth had gone with an invite that her first name-day shall be celebrated with the first harvest feast of starting season. It’ll be good for the stores and coffers of Winterfell. Most arriving Lords will come bearing gifts, which in North means carts full of grains, hay, wool, wood and in some cases fresh game from their respective forests. It’ll serve her well to enjoy a well-deserved break from the monotony of Winter.

However, Ned doesn’t seem to be in a very festive mood. He’s been brooding off late. Well, more than he’s used too. He’s been having closed door discussions with the Maestar, Ser Rodrik and the Steward as well who, bless his soul had taken an increased share of her duties for the past few days despite his own wife being pregnant.

Her musings were cut short when Ned stood up from his seat and the guards stationed at the corners of the hall started tapping the base of their spears on the floor to ensure silence.

“People of the North, as you already know my house has been blessed with the birth of strong and beautiful child whom we’ve named Sansa”, amidst the cheers he continued, “in addition, it seems Winter is finally over for a White raven has arrived today from the Citadel announcing the arrival of Spring”. His next words were drowned in the cacophony of sounds that erupted at his announcement. Truly nothing cheers the heart of a Northman as much as the arrival of Spring does.

Once the sounds died Ned continued, “Traditionally, this is the time when most of you staying in Winter Town will go back to your respective homes and villages. However, this time I have an offer for you.” After ensuring that he had the attention of every soul present in the hall he continued, “I’ve been discussing the possibilities of expanding Winterfell and giving a more permanent populace to the Winter-Town. It is my view that though most of the folk staying presently in Winter-Town have their own places to work and lands to till during Spring, Summer and Autumn some of you don’t have the means to sustain yourself for an extended period of time during most of the year.” Catelyn observed many heads nodding grimly to these words. “As such those of you who would prefer to stay here rather go back to your original places are given a chance to join my household in whatever capacity you are found capable.”

The hall once again exploded in shouts of joy and excitement. Ale flowed freely thereafter and amidst lot of interruption Ned patiently explained his plans on providing stable housing to families choosing to directly serve House-Stark and Winterfell. While volunteers having some skill would be provided with funds and space to function within Winter-Town itself, the peasants will be provided arable land bordering Winterfell which will have extra security cover with guards keeping an eye from their watchtowers. The rest will serve as labourers for House Stark which will embark on several repair/construction projects in the coming days.

Ned had earlier discussed his plans with her regarding expanding Winterfell. He’d been of the view that House Stark and by extension the entire North had been stagnant for a long time. While in the old days of Winter-Kings every summer was used to create new or expand the existing roads, holdfasts, agricultural land and public spaces; it seemed that in the days since Aegon’s conquest the North had barely moved forward, so much so that the population has actually declined in certain areas. This was truer in the context of Winterfell as the First keep had been abandoned for ages same as the broken tower which was, well broken without a thought or plan to repair or reconstruct them. However, for the plans to reach fruition they needed both funds and men which were not readily available.

It was here that her advice came into play. It was she who had told him that almost all major houses have a smallfolk population living nearby which come handy in serving their liege in these matters. Funding wasn’t a major issue as remuneration needn’t always be paid in coins as there are means to do so in terms of rations, grains, cloth, wool, or land which was plenty in North. Ned had been grateful to her but when she asked what had prompted this sudden desire to transform the North he’d simply smiled and said, “Later”.

It was only much later that Catelyn understood the full extent of her husband’s plans. Once the repair work on the First Keep had been started and the tearing down of the Broken Tower had commenced, Ned summoned Galbert Glover and Helman Tallhart, Masters of Deepwood Motte and Torrhen’s Square respectively. It seem the summons were not urgent as both arrived with their respective parties only after a month of sending the ravens.

Once all the guests have been given time to freshen up and place their belongings in their respective quarters a modest feast was arranged to welcome both parties. During the feast most men exchanged pleasantries and engaged in small talk. While the guards and men-at-arms of both houses indulged in drinking copious amount of ale, the trio of Master Glover, Master Tallhart and Ned sparingly sipped from their goblets. Once the men sitting on lower benches had started dozing off Catelyn sent for the maids to take both Robb and Jon to their beds and excused herself from the feast to attend to Sansa. Soon she herself went to sleep.

The next morning arrived early. After attending to her daily business Catelyn noted that the men who’d accompanied Galbert Glover and Helman Tallhart have gone to the Winter-Town on what they called their “Lord’s business”. It was only after lunch when she was taking the stock of food-items with Vayon Poole that she came to know that it was indeed Ned who’d ordered them to start recruiting men for some campaign. Making a mental note to ask Ned later she continued with their stock taking.

During the night, when Ned finally arrived in bed she enquired about the campaign he’d been planning. Ned stated that there have been reports of sightings of ships of Ironborn make but without any identifiable banner near the West Coast. As such he’d charged House Glover and House Tallhart to conduct searches at Sea Dragon Point and Stony Shore respectively to examine the truth behind such reports. He’d also sent letters to Kings Landing addressed to the King and his Lord Hand stating the possibility of an Ironborn incursion in future. He asked her to write her father, Lord Hoster Tully to spruce up defences alongside his coastal boundaries as a precautionary measure.

When Catelyn expressed her concern regarding the impending war, Ned stated that though he’s not sure of any Ironborn invasion any time soon, it was better to be safe than sorry. He further stated that he’d asked both his guests to find any defensible location, preferably an existing or abandoned holdfast at the places placed under their respective charge during this operation and examine the possibility of setting up a base from where they can co-ordinate any offensive or defensive effort should such a need arise in future.

He elaborated that he intends to establish castles at both Sea Dragon Point and Stony Shore wherein he could set up cadet branches of House Stark. However, as there are no grown up legitimate Stark-sons present at hand, he’ll be placing Robett Glover and Leobald Tallhart in command of Sea Dragon Point and Stony Shore respectively as both are second sons of their houses and have proven competent and loyal in the past. When she pointed out that Robett is Galbert’s heir, Ned said that though he’s asked Galbert to look for a bride he didn’t mean it as an order.

Galbert Glover as well as Helman Tallhart, designated commanders of North’s West Coast ended up spending close to two months as guest of Winterfell. During this time, they gathered some 200 men each who were given basic training in sword-fight, archery and were daily drilled in different spear-shield formations. As almost none of the recruits were familiar with riding horses they would serve either as archers or as infantry. What surprised Catelyn that each recruit was accompanied by their respective families. She wondered whether Ned was going to settle these people in or around the new yet to be named or constructed holdfasts/castles. In addition, several wood-workers also joined them.

Galbert Glover departed through the Hunter’s Gate with his party of almost half a thousand men, women and children going through Wolfswood towards Deepwood Motte, from where his younger brother and heir will take command of the party and travel towards Sea Dragon Point. Helman Tallhart went through the South Gate from where he’ll go to his seat Torrhen’s Square and will hand over the command of an identical host to his younger brother Leobald Tallhart. Both hosts were given ample supplies to last the journey and then some for they’ll need the same while settling down in their new lands granted to them by their overlord.

The next few days were subdued as the frantic activities leading up to the departure of both hosts petered out. Life had once again resumed normalcy as even with increased number of people living in the vicinity of Winterfell, the population was still almost a thousand short of what lived there a couple of weeks back. It was in this atmosphere that news arrived from Castle Black that _Lord_  Commander Qorgyle would be arriving with a couple of escorts from Shadow Tower.

When the Maestar broke the news at dinner time, Ned barely acknowledged it. However, what drew Catelyn’s curiosity was the bastard’s reaction. He perked up at the mention of the Night’s Watch and when the maids arrived to take the boys to their beds he requested to have a word with “Lord Stark”. Once again Ned gave an imperceptible nod without even looking in his direction.

Afterwards, while waiting for her Lord husband in her chambers she started thinking about the boy. In the last few months the boy had started learning letters from the Maestar alongside Robb. However, when she asked Luwin about their progress, the Maestar while profusely praising Robb, avoided making any statement regarding Jon. Lately she’d started taking Robb with her to the Sept which Ned got constructed for her. She later came to know that Jon spends that time with the Maestar. It seems he was having some problems in learning letters and Luwin might have been instructed by Ned to keep it quiet. He was also more eager to pester Old Nan for scary stories of monsters beyond the Wall. It almost seemed that he’s been thinking of joining his uncle Benjen at the Wall.

However, he was still too young to go there. Not that Catelyn would have minded that. Oh how she had begged Ned to let the boy be fostered elsewhere, but Ned had stubbornly refused. The Nights watch could be a dangerous place for a three-year old boy but then again Benjen was there, maybe he’ll be glad to have a relative nearby.

Her musings were broken when Ned entered her room wearing a contemplative look. When asked he replied it was nothing, that he was just thinking about the Night’s Watch. How once a glorious institution has been reduced to the status of a penal colony which harbours the discarded dregs of the society. Catelyn could tell he wasn’t telling her the truth, so she kept her silence and eventually went to sleep.


	7. The Lord Commander of the Nights Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned discusses the Night's Watch with the 996th Lord Commander.

Jon was beyond excited.

 

All the discussions held earlier and the plans he had helped make with his Lord father were finally coming to fruition. Loyal Bannerman were being rewarded for good service, desolate areas of the North were finally coming back to life and now Mance Rayder was coming to Winterfell.

 

It had been difficult to convince his father about Mance. His father had a rather rigid sense of honour and was stubbornly set in his ways. It was extremely difficult for him to understand how an oathbreaker and king of wildling savages to boot could have any sense of honour. But the lengthy arguments he'd had with him have finally wore him down. He'd atleast agreed to meet with him with an open mind. Of course the Mance who was coming now to Winterfell hasn't deserted his post at the Wall yet.

 

In fact, they didn't even knew why the Lord Commander was coming to Winterfell. If it was just another request for men and materials a raven would have sufficed. But Jon wasn't privy to the affairs of his Lord father in his previous life. As such he couldn't speculate much in this regard.

 

The last time this visit had happened Robb and Jon had concocted some mischief at the expense of Fat Tom. This time though Jon had important things to do. His father had agreed to bring him to the meeting under the pretense that Jon wants to join the Nights Watch once he grows up. 

 

Both father and son had prepared their own lists of demand and were eager to present them to the Nights Watch in lieu of men and supplies.

 

Finally the day arrived and after the customary welcome accorded to the Lord Commander and his party they all were taken to the Great Hall for refreshments. They were then taken to their respective rooms to rest awhile before the dinner. After an early dinner all concerned men and Jon excused themselves to Ned's solar.

 

It turned out to be rather anti-climatic. While Jon was expecting something more sinister to have prompted this visit, the Lord Commander had essentially come requesting only men and supplies.

 

"We've been forced to close another castle this year my lord. The conditions at the Wall are truly dire."

 

"House Stark has always been a friend to the Watch Lord Commander. Tell me how can I be of help to you?"

 

"In the times of Aegon the conqueror we were 10,000 men strong with 17 of our castles  fully manned and functional. Now we're close to a tenth of that strength and barely enough staff to man only three of them".

 

"Have my sworn bannermen been truant lord commander. Are they not sending enough men and supplies to the Wall Lord Commander?"

 

"It's not your bannermen I'm complaining about my lord. However, south of the neck it's a different story altogether."

 

"It's not my place to speak against other Lord Paramounts or their bannermen, lord commander. As you are here I would request you to speak your mind, so that I could speak mine."

 

"I'm at my wits end My lord. You understand these lands better than me. I'm from Dorne and running out of options. Help us. Help me."

 

"To be fair lord commander, it's my brother Benjen who knows these lands even better than me. I spent half my life in the Vale at the Eyrie. I am more southern than any prior lord of Winterfell, but we don't choose our fates. If you don't mind I've a few proposals regarding the rejuvenation of the Nights Watch."

 

"Please go on."

 

"Around 250 years back King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne visited Winterfell and the Wall and forced the Lord of Winterfell to cede the lands of new gift for the support of Wall."

 

"She also gave her own jewelry for the construction of a new castle as Nightfort had become too difficult to maintain. Would that more royals shared her generosity. We all know this tale Lord Stark, but what's your point?"

 

"The act of generosity was just that Lord commander, an act. Both the old king and his shrewd Queen knew that North was independent all but in name. They wanted us to be brought to heel. Their hand, Barth was a Septon. We're the only kingdom which still keep the old gods and thus the only one which was spared during the wars of Maegyr the cruel. No lord commander, the main purpose of their visit was to weaken House Stark and fracture the north. After Aegon's conquest and the faith rebellions the south was too weak to exercise control over the north but Targeryns still flew on dragons so they did the only thing they could do to pre-empt an insurrection, they took our most prized possession which is land. You see Lord Commander North left to its own devices was the largest of all seven kingdoms and comparable in strength to any other but once you take out both Gifts we are barely bigger than the Reach which had always followed the dragons after they exterminated the Gardeners. Tell me Lord Commander, how has the Watch fared after getting this Gift? Let me help you. You've steadily spent your resources on the upkeep of lands too far spread to be under your control. As a result bandits and wildlings have steadily carried out raids on these lands, leading to mass migration and loss of revenue to the coffers of Winterfell. Let me make this clear Lord commander, with the coming of Andals, it was mostly the contribution of northern houses that sustained the Nights Watch. A weak north, a weak watch."

 

"What are you suggesting my lord?"

 

"Give me back the gift Lord Commander and I assure you in less than a decade, the Wall will not want for anything."

 

"This is big decision my lord. One I cannot take without discussing with my fellow brothers and senior officers."

 

"I assure you Lord Commander and you can corroborate these facts from your maestar. You'll lose nothing 'cause you aren't getting anything from Alysanne's Gift. But should those lands be returned to my domain I could set up new lordships there who'll be my sworn bannermen in times of war and will keep the King's peace but shall pay the taxes to the Nights Watch."

 

"Give me time my lord. You've given me much to think upon. Wretched we may be but we still have our pride. It's not a decision I would make in a night."

 

"Take all the time in the world lord commander but keep one thing in mind.."

 

 

 

"Winter is coming"


	8. King beyond the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mance Rayder in Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phrases in quotes directly taken from A song of ice and fire by George RR Martin.

 

Jon was a bundle of nerves. Mance seemed a decade and a half younger than the last he saw him, leaner and taller too. He still kept his hair long but there wasn't any grey in them and his clever brown eyes saw everything. He seemed almost awed by the sight of Winterfell but took care to hide it. 

 

As agreed with his father, Jon dragged Mance away from his group of brothers and ambushed him with a gaggle of same age boys including Robb and started pestering him for tales beyond the Wall. 

 

>  
> 
> The king was plainly a man who liked the sound of his own voice. 

 

Jon exploited Mance's weakness to the hilt, milking every single tale worth telling, from the unsuspecting Ranger. Tales of the  giants riding mammoths, of the haunted forest  inhabiting huge elks and shadowcats, snow bears and direwolves. Each tale more embellished and outrageous than the previous one. Had they been any older he would be singing songs of his conquests of wildling women as well, Jon mused. He even got him to admit his ability to sing and true enough Mance sang quite a few songs during the daily feasts for the next few days. Oh how Sansa would have loved it, had she not been an infant. 

 

> "Free folk don't follow names, or little cloth animals sewn on a tunic. They won't dance for coins, they don't care how you style yourself or what that chain of office means or who your grandsire was. They follow strength. They follow the man."

 

Jon remembered Mance telling him something along those lines. He'd asked his father to test his sword arm against the party of brothers accompanying the Lord Commander. He remembered fighting Mance himself when he was glamoured as Rattleshirt. Who would have won had Mance fought him as himself, no one could tell. This Mance, however was another story.  While quite eager to fight the Lord of Winterfell, Mance was nowhere near his father's skill who'd been trained in the arts of combat by the best the Vale had to offer. Hence, predictably most matches he fought, he ended up winning. He should do this more often, Jon thought. It'll serve him better in the coming wars. 

 

Mance was basking under all the attention and adulation he was receiving in Winterfell. So when Jon mentioned about his plans of joining his uncle Benjen at Castle Black once he comes of age, his eyes almost popped out. Wondering why would one do so, Jon supplied that even a bastard could rise high in the Nights Watch. Mance became thoughtful and stated that he himself is a bastard of sorts, sired as he was by a Ranger of the Watch upon a wildling woman. When he asked Jon about his own mother, Jon shrugged and said his father hasn't deigned to tell him that. Yet. 

 

The days following the arrival of Lord Commander and his party were spent in daily meetings with his father, scouting Winter-Town for volunteers and arranging supplies. Spring had barely arrived a few months ago but the last Winter had been blessedly short so there was no dearth of grains, hay , blankets and arms to spare.  The Watch won't be getting what it desires most but the brothers will be thankful nonetheless. 

 

His father had offered to send shipwrights from White Harbour to expand the existing fleet, shipyard and docks both at Eastwatch by the sea and Westwatch by the bridge should the Watch be ready to bear at least half the expense but the Lord Commander stated they couldn't bear it. Lord Stark insisted to re-visit the proposal in a couple of years time. 

 

The Lord of Winterfell had even offered to "adopt" some of the castles of the Night's Watch for a definite period of time, say 10 years or so, during which he'll repair and man the castles using his own men and materials and set off the expenses collected from new lordships from the Gift but the Lord Commander's unease was palpable. Jon hoped Jeor Mormont would be more tractable but recalling Old Bear he wasn't so sure.

 

In the end, his father and Lord Commander succeeded in drawing an agreement which seemed most amenable to the Nights Watch as well as the Lord's of the North. Two copies were prepared for each party as while the Lord Commander sought ratification from rest of the black brothers and other high officers; Lord Stark was duty bound to present the same to King Robert. While Jon wasn't made aware of all details of the agreement, the most important was who would be settled on the lands of Gifts. While the Nights Watch will retain full control over Brandon's Gift, Alysanne's Gift shall be brought under the overlordship of Winterfell for eternity. Any person, Noble or otherwise, settling there will swear fealty to the Stark of Winterfell and keep the King's peace. The taxes will be paid to the Nights Watch, after the expiry of a 10 year period during which the same will be used to set-off expenses incurred by Winterfell in the repair, expansion and maintenance of any 5 Castles of the Nights Watch.

 

That night the celebration was on a bigger scale than previous nights and Mance played his lute to everyone's heart's content. The following morning the party left early with a score volunteers and a dozen carts of supply behind them. 

 

Winter may be coming, but this time Jon and House Stark would be ready to face it.


	9. Greyjoy Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a time jump of nearly three years prior to the events of this chapter. Since, it mostly follows Canon, I haven't covered the war in much detail, just the key events. Edward Stark POV.

 

The preparations of almost 3 years finally paid off when Balon Greyjoy crowned himself the King of Iron Islands in the year 289 AC. In these past years Ned has steadily spruced up the defenses of Western coast by setting up watchtowers along the Stony Shore and Sea Dragon Point. The ruined castles of the Warg King at Sea Dragon Point and that of now extinct House Fisher at Stony Shore have been repaired enough  for Robett Glover and Leobald Tallhart to assume command of them. Further expansion can wait for hostilities to end with the Iron islands. 

 

House Ryswell and House Dustin have followed his instructions by taking similar steps to safeguard their own coastal boundaries near Blazewater Bay. The main concern had been Flint's Finger as House Flint doesn't have enough resources of its own to secure the entire area falling under their domain. Thereby, Ned had to send a force of 100 riders under the command of Jory Cassel  to conduct searches and setup defenses along their coast. They were given explicit instructions to not engage any force larger their own. 

 

 

His lady wife had alerted her Lord father, Hoster Tully of his suspicions. Trusting his good son's instincts Lord Tully send instructions and reinforcements to Seagard which came handy when Rodrik Greyjoy came knocking at its doors. 

 

With no love lost between House Stark and Lannister, he'd held back on sharing any information with Tywin Lannister. However, he'd shared every relevant report with Kings Landing. It could be argued whether the same was shared with Lord Tywin or not, but finally the burning of Lannisport happened as in Jon's previous life. 

 

The attack happened on a moonless night. As earlier told by Jon and later confirmed by his own sources, Euron Greyjoy had been the mastermind behind the attack, which was carried out by Victarian Greyjoy. Having burned the closest threat to their naval supremacy the Iron Fleet was now unopposed to raid and reave the entire western coast bordering the Sunset Sea. Victory at Lannisport spurred Balon to send his eldest son Rodrik to Seagard so an invasion could be launched into Riverlands. It seemed the eldest son of Quellon Greyjoy was having ambitions of re-claiming the kingdom of Harren Hoare. However,  Rodrik was slain by  Lord Jason Mallister during the storming of Seagard. By all accounts the battle had been fierce but with reinforcements from Riverrun already well entrenched at the castle the Ironborn reavers were soundly defeated.

 

It seemed the Iron Throne had been busy making preparations of its own. It was only later that Robert informed Ned about the overtures they had been making to bring the truant sons of Quellon Greyjoy into the fold but it seemed none of them shared the pragmatic and forward thinking of their father. Soon Stannis Batayein, lord of Dragonstone, master of ships and brother of king Robert, joined the royal fleet with the Redwyne fleet of Arbor and some ships from Oldtown and smashed the Iron fleet led by Victarion Greyjoy during the battle in the straits of Fair Isle. Auron Greyjoy was captured and spent the rest of the war beneath Casterly Rock.

 

With the Iron fleet defeated, way to the Iron Islands was now clear and the forces gathered under the Crowned Stag banners made its way to Pyke, Great Wyk, Old Wyk and Orkmont. One by one the strongholds of Ironborn paved way for the forces of Robert Baratheon.

 

The final battle was on the island of Pyke led by Robert and himself. The nearby Boltey castle was destroyed, as was the town of Lordsport beneath it, before the main attack on the castle of Pyke was launched. Robert's forces assaulted the southern wall with siege engines, shattering the main watchtower and bringing parts of the surrounding wall down. Maron Greyjoy, the second of Balon's three sons, was killed in the breach. Thoros of My was first through the breach wielding a sword coated in wildfire. The fighting in the castle was fierce, but eventually the castle was taken. Lord Jorah Mormont, who was shortly behind Thoros, and Jacelyn Bywater, who lost a hand during the fighting, earned knighthoods from Robert for their bravery. 

 

Once the fighting was over Robert intended Balon to swear fealty to him and take his sole remaining son, Theon as a hostage to ensure good behaviour. However, Ned managed to change his mind. He argued that the brothers Greyjoys were too set in their 'Old Ways' and it would serve them better if someone of a liberal mind like the late lord Quellon took up the reins of governing the Iron Islands. After much deliberation it was decided that all sons of Quellon Greyjoy will take Black. While Balon, Aeron and Victarion submitted themselves to the justice exacted by the Iron Throne, it was told that Euron Greyjoy had been banished from the Iron islands by Balon for some crime against his own family, who escaped on his ship Silence. Under circumstances like these that, Theon Greyjoy, a boy of nine years was made Lord Reaper of Pyke. Lord Rodrik Harlow, brother of his mother known as the Reader was appointed as his regent. The eldest remaining child of Balon Greyjoy, Asha, a girl of 13 years was betrothed to Edmure Tully of Riverrun and was sent to Winterfell, to become a proper lady under the tutelage of lady Catelyn Stark. 

Robert threw a great tourney at Lannisport to celebrate his victory. Lord Jorah Mormont of Bear Island wearing the favour of Lady Lynese Hightower won the joust when he was awarded the win by King Robert after breaking nine lances against Ser Jaime Lannister.

Having won the war, Ned set about doing what he'd agreed with Jon earlier. First, he sought out Randyll Tarly under the pretense of fostering better relations with Reach houses. After spending some time with Lord Tarly, Ned Stark proposed fostering Tarly's son and heir Samwell at Winterfell. While lord Tarly somewhat hesitatingly expressed his concerns regarding Sam,  Ned convinced him otherwise. Both agreed that Sam will start his fostering in two years time after his eighth name day. 

Later, Ned requested a private audience with Robert. It was disconcerting for Ned to see the way Robert had let himself go after food, wine and whores. He urged him to exercise caution and reminded him his duty. In return, Robert asked him to join as his Master of Law. Ned excused himself citing his responsibilities in North and the young age of his heir. He assured Robert that he'll join him once Robb is of age. However, in the meantime he agreed to send one of his most trusted and capable Bannerman to Kings Landing, Lord of White Harbour, Wyman Manderly to assist him in any capacity and represent the warden of the north on the small council.


	10. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain Raven pays Jon a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Passage in quotes from A clash of kings.

> _Jon?_
> 
>  
> 
> _The call came from behind him, softer than a whisper, but strong too. Can a shout be silent? He turned his head, searching for his brother, for a glimpse of a lean grey shape moving beneath the trees, but there was nothing, only . . ._
> 
>  
> 
> _A weirwood._
> 
>  
> 
> _It seemed to sprout from solid rock, its pale roots twisting up from a myriad of fissures and hairline cracks. The tree was slender compared to other weirwoods he had seen, no more than a sapling, yet it was growing as he watched, its limbs thickening as they reached for the sky. Wary, he circled the smooth white trunk until he came to the face. Red eyes looked at him. Fierce eyes they were, yet glad to see him. The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?_

> _Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow._
> 
>  
> 
> _He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs._
> 
> _Don’t be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him_.

 

 

Ever since his rebirth Jon had been plagued with strange dreams. Dreams not nightmares. Well that too. But all of them strange. Most he forgot by the time he woke up but some stayed with him. In most dreams he was himself. In others he was Ghost. And then there were others in which he was a dragon.

 

Jon knew he had been a warg in his previous life. The thought gave him less trouble than it did in the past. As such he wasn't really bothered by his wolf dreams. He thought of them as  the lingering memories from his past life. But the dragon dreams were beginning to bother him. So much so that there were days when he'd wake up more tired than he'd been while he went to bed. Further, he didn't need a reminder of his parentage in any form, which couldn't get any obvious than a dragon. 

 

He'd suppressed his knowledge of his origins for too long. Except for the one time that he'd told his father of his knowledge of it they never discussed it any further. And he'd thought it good riddance. Apart from the fact that it was a security risk, his status as a bastard was bad as it is. He didn't want the additional stigma of being born of rape. 

 

To soothe his anxieties borne out of  his dragon dreams, he initially thought to speak with someone with a better understanding of them. Speaking with his lord father didn't seem right and since he couldn't very well entrust the secret of his parents with a third person, he tried reading almost every book available on the subject that was available in Winterfell's library. It didn't help.  

 

Out of any good option, he did what any person in a hopeless state would do. He kneeled in front of the heart tree and poured his heart out, seeking help from gods to ease his troubles. Little did he know that his life was about to get wierder. 

 

At times he'd feel a phantom itch at the back of his head. Like some one was watching him, keeping an eye. He'd been sitting on top of the First Keep watching the Sun set when a flapping of wings made him look back. A Raven was hovering before him at eye level staring intently. Now, if being stared at by a Raven was not weird enough this particular Raven was staring at him with three eyes. The sight, though peculiar seemed oddly familiar too. Almost as if he knew the raven.

 

"Do I know you?"

 

"Do you?"

 

"I'm not sure."

 

"Well you don't, but I know you. Have known you since before you were even concieved."

 

"Who are you?"

 

"I'm the three eyed raven."

 

"Well, that's not really helpful."

 

"What else do you want to know?"

 

"You're a warg."

 

"Yes, I'm that and more."

 

"But wargs don't speak like this, and none I know have a third eye."

 

"Mostly don't, but like I said I'm not just a warg or any warg. I'm a greenseer. I'm the three eyed raven."

 

"I'm still not following you."

 

"Only one in a thousand is born a warg and only one warg in a thousand is born a greenseer. While most children has golden eyes, the eyes of greenseers are red or green. They are not robust or long lived, but can linger within weirwoods. Humans can be born greenseers just as they are born wargs. I'm the last greenseer."

 

"Why are you here?"

 

"You called for me."

 

"Me? When? How?"

 

"Today, while you were praying I heard you. The gods don't interfere with the lives of mortals. So I came."

 

"The gods have intervened in my life before."

 

"Oh that wasn't the gods dear. That was all you."

 

"Me? I got killed by my own brothers. I should be dead not reliving the past."

 

"It's complicated Jon but I'll try to explain. You embody two of the most powerful and magical bloodlines in the entire human history. Your ancestors have been conquerors, dragon-riders, wargs, greenseers and mad men too.  You are a wolf and a dragon but stronger  than both. Since you were unaware of half of your ancestry and without proper guidance you never pushed your boundaries.  However, you were the man with the most magical blood standing at the most magical place in the entire world when you were stabbed. While an ordinary man should have died you weren't ready for that and too stubborn by half to go out meekly. So you lingered. It was the greenseers of past who convinced you to come back because had you lingered any more the very concept of time and space would have been distorted."

 

"You are saying I wasn't sent, I came on my own."

 

"You caused a split in time itself Jon, of course it was you. Nobody has that kind of power. Nobody should."

 

"Does that mean I could do it again, if I want to."

 

"May be you could, may be you can't but the thing is at that point of time you were in spirit form. A human body is mortal and as such places certain restrictions over you. You can't bodily hop from one place to another. It's just your consciousness."

 

"What now?"

 

"That's upto you. For starters you've already taken certain steps which have greatly altered the course  of many live. Some for better, others not so."

 

"You said I need guidance to reach my full potential."

 

"Yes, I did."

 

"Guide, such as you?"

 

"Preferably."

 

"How can I reach you?"

 

"I live beyond the wall. Once you are ready I'll send someone to guide you. But I've a feeling lord stark may have something to say about it."

 

"I'm my own man."

 

"You're a boy of barely 7 years of age and nobody in his right mind will leave you unescorted for even half a day let alone months or weeks, that too beyond the wall let alone Eddard Stark."

 

"I could try."

 

"You could but in any case we should prepare for contingencies."

 

"You're mind is already made up on this."

 

"I'll ignore that. You still have a living relative from your father's side. The good thing is you've met and spent some time before. I suggest you go and spend some time together and try to embrace your other half of ancestry."

 

"What if I don't want to?"

 

"I know that you believe yourself to be born of rape dear Jon but trust me there's more to the truth than that."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Just ask Eddard Stark."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Going further

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Jon plan for future.

The morning came soon after the raven departed. Jon went through his morning rituals almost in daze. He finished his breakfast in the kitchens so as not to be underfoot while Lady Stark is about. He was constantly fidgeting anxiously as he waited for his father to enter his solar and no sooner had Ned entered his solar that Jon was upon him. After ensuring that nobody could overhear them they started.

 

“What is it?”, Ned asked.

 

“I want to know about my birth”, he blurted.

 

Ned frowned, “I thought you knew?”.

 

“I know who my parents were, but that’s the extent of it”.

 

“May I ask what has prompted this?”

 

“I asked the question first my lord.”

 

“Very well. I don't know for sure.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean.”

 

“Jon please sit. This will go a lot easier if we both talk like responsible adults.”

 

Jon sat grudgingly.

 

“When I found your mother, she was barely alive. In her last moments her only concern was your safety. She loved you with all her heart.”

 

“Thanks for telling me that father but that doesn’t answer my question.”

 

“When we arrived at the tower, it was guarded by three Kingsguard. The lord commander Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arthur Dayne. When we confronted them they stated that they were guarding the king, though not in as many words.”

 

“That means I'm a trueborn.”

 

“You could be but there's nothing to prove one way or another. Moreover, house Targaryen is dead. There was no point claiming you as a trueborn son of a dead house.”

 

“Not all Targaryens are dead.”

 

“Those two are beyond the narrow sea Jon and it's in their best interest to stay there.”

 

“There's one here, in North.”

 

Father was briefly puzzled before stating, “Oh alright, I get it. You're talking about the Maestar”.

 

“Yes, I want to meet him”

 

“Whatever for?”

 

“Let's just say that I've some unfinished business with my father's family.”

 

“Is there anything that I can say or do to convince you otherwise?”

 

“Nothing I can think of.”

 

Father pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed deeply and said, “Very well. In any case, I was about to call on you. There are a few things we need to discuss.”

 

“By all means”. 

 

“As we planned earlier, our western coast is as well guarded as is possible from any invasion, Ironborn or otherwise. Both Robett Glover and Leobald Tallhart are doing well at their newly established castles and people from nearby settlements have started flocking to them for additional security and work. The first few batches of men and supplies we sent to the watch have already been put to work and repair work is in full swing at Westwatch by the bridge, Sentinel Stand, Queensgate, Oakenshield and Greenguard. All five castles are in immediate proximity of Shadow Tower, Castle Black and Eastwatch by the sea. Once fully repaired and garrisoned we'll move to others. I'd earlier requested Rickard Karstark offering his uncle Arnolf and his family to take Queenscrown as his seat with instructions to properly set up a base for our operations there. They are already there and settling down as we speak. I'd also requested the Citadel to send a Maestar for Queenscrown  and Lord Commander Mormont has already sent request for five. ”

 

“What are you planning for the freefolk?”

 

“I don't know how to go about this plan of yours to settle them in the gift. There's too much bad blood between our people to settle peacefully in close proximity.”

 

“Claim the lands beyond the wall in the name of King Robert Baratheon. From what we know about him, he might even join”, Jon shrugged.

 

“War is not something you wish on anyone save your enemies Jon and if what you've told me about them is true then they are human beings, just like us.”

 

“They're not going to bend the knee. In my past life they were truly desperate and then too it was nearly impossible for them to agree. I wonder if Mance has deserted yet.”

 

“Then let's stick to our plan. We strengthen the Nights Watch and once Mance is ready with his army we offer him shelter and alliance against the Others.”

 

“It won't be easy but we don't really have a choice as of now. So when are we leaving.”

 

“In a few days. I'm hoping for Arnolf to settle at Queenscrown first. He should be in a position to host our men in a couple of moon's time. Enough time for us to gather sufficient men and supplies.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Galbart hasn't yet responded to my request of taking a wife. He still intends to vacate seat for Robett at Deepwood Motte.”

 

“Order him to raise a stone castle in the place of the present Motte and Bailey one.”

 

“He lacks the funds.”

 

“Then he'll take a Frey bride.”

 

Father almost shouted, “You can’t be serious. I won't curse the blood of that weasel upon my worst enemies.”

 

“Walder Frey is not the enemy father. He's a spiteful, cunning and ambitious lord who is prickly about being slighted by other lords who think themselves above him. Which isn't much farther from truth. If there's one thing that man has in abundance is his pride, wealth and too many children, grand-children and great-grand-children with no inheritance of their own. There are many lords in North who could use a few additional heirs and Frey's are nothing if not fertile,” Jon explained

 

“You seem to have given it much thought son.”

 

“Yes. Tell me what you intend to do about Moat Cailin.”

 

“I've given it some thought but I'd prefer if it goes to you.”

 

I'm still too young for that and I won't burden your coffers any more than is absolutely necessary. Moat Cailin needs to be given to a house who doesn't cry foul once we take it back from them in future.” 

 

“If I count out Glovers and Tallharts that will leave only the Reeds and Howland isn't who can afford to raise such a Castle.”

 

“What about Manderlys?”

 

“Wyman has gone to Kings Landing like we discussed couple of years back. He's being my eyes and ears at the small council and from what Jon has written he's been an immense help in the running of realm along with Stannis.”

 

“What about his sons?”

 

“Ser Wylis is the acting lord of White Harbour in his father's absence but I'll admit I don't know much about what Ser Wendel's been upto.”

 

“Send for him. Ask him to strengthen and expand the causeway. The entire stretch of Kingsroad that passes through the Neck is too narrow and dangerous for smallfolk and merchants to dare on their own. In my past life Robb was crowned as king of North and the Trident. Let’s hope it doesn't come to pass this time but it won't hurt forging a stronger bond with your good father's domain. A proper road through the Neck will ease passage and boost trade. Summon Reed and his bannermen. The area surrounding the Moat needs to be cleared and a proper castle needs to be raised there. It'll serve as the gateway to the North.”

 

“Where does the Freys come in this picture?”

 

“House Frey are the northernmost bannermen to House Tully. Most Cailin will be the southernmost castle of the North. A marriage between the houses holding both will boost Walder Frey's ego and pay Ser Wendel's expenses which are going to be huge. Another thing, Neck is our southernmost domain. It's also the warmest. If properly drained the swamps may give way to good arable land which may give higher yields than even the Rills and Barrowlands. While I was Lord Commander of the Nights Watch I intended to set up glass houses at all the Castles of the Wall. Even took a loan from the Iron Bank. The more people we can feed through Winter will decide the number of men we can raise against the Others. We could do something along those lines throughout the North.” 

 

‘Glass is too expensive.”

 

“The kind we need for glass houses is not. Glass is mostly a luxury item used primarily for vanity and decoration. The one we use in glass houses need to be sturdy not beautiful. Hardly anyone outside North use it for that purpose. Glass making is actually not that difficult. All that we need is lots of sand.”

 

“Sand? We do have a few beaches but have you discussed this with Luwin?”

 

“I did. He said the sand we need can be found in Dorne.” 

 

“Dorne? How the hell are we going to get it from Dorne. Even if they give it for free, which I don’t think they would, the transportation cost is too prohibitive.”

 

“I’m still working out the logistics for that. As to the cost of sand, we’ll offer them something only we can give.”

 

“What?”

 

“Snow.”


	12. A Merman in King Robert's court.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyman Manderly's POV. 291 AC

Wyman Manderly had moved to Kings Landing at the orders of his liege Lord barely a year ago. He had been surprised, initially, when Lord Stark requested him to take place at the small council in his stead as the Master of Law. For any lord worth his salt it would have been a great honour but the Starks are made of sterner stuff. While keeping the interests of his domain at heart, his overlord, whom they lovingly called Ned had graciously admitted his weakness at dealing with court politics. While Wyman enjoyed his moments of intrigue, he was far from being a player. Nonetheless he had every intention to do his duty towards his liege.

While discussing his appointment as Master of Law, Lord Stark had given him few instructions the main being to curb the influence of Westerlands in general and House Lannister in particular, which if not easy wasn’t exactly difficult for the Lord Hand, the Master of Ships, Stannis Baratheon and the king himself was a willing ally.

Another was to check the excesses of King Robert himself which was by no means easy as Wyman himself had a weakness for good food, drink and occasional feast. However, King Robert was on an entirely different level altogether when it came to feasting, drinking, hunting and worst of all whoring. He would be gone from the capital on hunting for days altogether and even when in the city would seldom bother to hold court or attend small council meetings. His lifestyle and that of his queen was too extravagant to maintain and the strain was beginning to be felt upon Royal Treasury. In the absence of a regular Master of Coin, his expertise in managing finances was increasingly being sought out by the Hand which gave him immense pride.

Meanwhile, his role as the master of laws kept him busy as the City watch was in a bad shape since the sack of kings landing. Many veterans of the watch had died during the sack and a bulk of high born survivors sent to the wall. As such the watch was bereft of good leaders with the Crownlands nobility still wary of the new regime. So he'd started recruiting from the citizenry of Kings Landing itself. The city had no dearth of people wanting to make an honest living. However, their lack of education severely limited their options. Finally, he had to employ his own household knights and those of the Lord Hand to organize week long training camps at the tourney grounds and select worthy candidates, who would then be given proper training in maintaining law and order within the city and sometimes patrolling the approaching roads to the city. They had made incredible progress in a short time. The city watch was now 3000 strong with its members while not at par with the Unsullied were capable of holding their own even against formidable foes other than the usual bandits, thieves and cut-purses. He'd been instrumental behind several reforms that had improved the performance of gold cloaks. His performance had even impressed the dour Lord of Dragonstone which was an achievement in itself.

Jon Arryn had used every opportunity to praise his inclusion in the small council and he had used this goodwill in getting several trade concessions for the North. The Queen and her cronies had tried to turn the king against Lord Stark by calling the defensive measures he’s been taking as war mongering and a slight against the Iron Throne but were rebuffed time and again.

Since last one year he had been sending regular reports to Lord Stark and his liege would discuss several issues of importance with him. Recently, Lord Stark has sent for his younger son Wendel, who he’d brought with him to the capital. While not out of ordinary, Wyman had a suspicion that Lord Stark may suggest a Lordship for his Wendel for he’s done the same for his most loyal bannermen in past. If both parties agree it might involve a marriage alliance as well, which could prove a little inconvenient at this point.

Taking a page out of the Lord Hand’s book, Wyman had been socializing with different Crownlands houses the main being Buckwell, Stokeworth, Rosby and Rykker. Out of all the nobles Lady Tanda Stokeworth had taken a fancy to him. Like him she’s fond of good food and the occasional drink, her being partial to Hippocras. Ever since he sat beside her during a dinner, which by the way he knew wasn't a coincidence, she has been asking him to come visit her estate. In the last one year or so he’d been invited to her estate within the capital several times every moon which he’d started accepting after politely refusing the first few times. He had to admit lady Tanda Stokeworth was tenacious. He knew her intentions quite well. In fact, half the city knew. She was like a mother hen, concerned about the wellbeing of her favorite daughter, Lollys. Lollys is sweet but simple girl of five and twenty and needs a husband of strong character who can take care of her through thick and thin. Her sister Falyse, heir to Stokeworth has married couple of years back to Ser Balman Brych, but her marriage is yet to bear fruit. Most likely it's her husband's fault who has a fetish of bedding virgins rather than his own wife. 

Recently, he had started thinking seriously of marrying his Wendel to Lollys as both are of an age and her dowry will help him to set up a modest household for himself and his family but hasn't committed anything yet. He had to first ensure whether Wendel was amenable to it or not. Moreover, he needs to bring the proposal to the attention of lord Stark as well as the lord hand who unsurprisingly is quite receptive of it. The reasoning being that Crownland houses had mostly been pro Targaryen and there are still places where King Robert is called as usurper albeit in quite whispers. A marriage between a key crownland house and a staunch Baratheon ally will go a long way in cementing the hold of current ruling establishment.

It was here that the proposal sent by Lord Stark has caught him on the wrong foot. His son, the lord of Moat Cailin? He couldn't be prouder. While Lord stark has also cautioned against the prohibitive costs of undertaking such a mammoth project, he will receive active assistance from House Reed and its vassal lords. After all, Moat Cailin has been a subject of pride for all northerners. However, Lord Stark has suggested a Frey marriage. Even though he agreed with the reasons supplied by his liege, a Frey for his Wendel? May be he can convince his liege of the benefits of a Stokeworth bride. As lady Tanda can outmatch any dowry provided by that ugly weasel.

In addition to presenting a suitable marriage to his son lady Tanda has been instrumental in widening his social circle within the Crownlands. The most prominent being, Lord Gyles Rosby. Lady Tanda is the aunt of Lord Gyles’ second wife, now deceased and a third cousin herself to Lord Gyles. As such the two are quite close to each other and meet quite often. It is from her that it came to his knowledge that the sixth wife of Walder Frey, Lady Bethany Rosby, now deceased had been his favorite sister. As such he is quite fond of her brood namely Perwyn, Benfrey, Willamen, Olyvar and Roslin. While Perwyn and Benfrey are both young knights seeking acclaim with the latter betrothed to his cousin Jyanna Frey and Willamen is an acolyte training to become Maestar at the Citadel both Olyvar and Roslin are unattached and without decent options for their future.

After giving this information considerable thought Wyman again wrote to Lord Stark and after receiving his blessing betrothed Wendel with Lollys and using his clout with Lady Tanda was able to impress upon Lord Gyles that in his health he needs his blood who can take care of his needs and sent for his Frey nephews and niece. Once in the city Ser Perwyn joined his household guard, Wendel took Olyvar as his Paige and Roslin joined the household of Lady Tanda.


	13. A Spider spins his web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summation of the story so far from another perspective.

Varys, the Master of whisperers, the wily Spider is relentless in spinning his web ever wider from Essos to Westeros. He with his dear friend and ally Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of Pentos hatched a plan of seating their own blood as the  true king of Westeros on the Iron throne. The plan is beyond daring and dangerous but so far they've been successful in their endeavour. 

 

It was with this intention that he'd accepted to be in the service of the Mad King, who'd been paranoid ever since his capture at Duskendale. He'd seen to it that the paranoia only grew with time and a day came when the king started fearing his own son and heir, Rhaegar, the last dragon. 

 

There was a time when Rhaegar could have reinvigorated the 300 year old Targeryn Dynasty from the corruption and decay that had set within it's court if only he'd had the audacity to take the throne from his father. But the feeble attempts of the Silver Prince had failed at Harrenhal and later, the Spider had used the Prince's fascination for prophecies for his family's doom. 

 

The song of ice and fire, Varys scoffed, half baked musings of twisted warlocks and mages. He held a deep hatred towards all kinds of magics but none so vicious as against the pyromancers of Rh'llor. Despite that Varys was proud of how he'd convinced the Silver Prince that the only daughter of Lord Rickard Stark is the missing piece of the puzzle which he'd been searching since he was 8. Oh how the Prince had rejoiced. No wonder he'd conveniently forgotten the fact that she was the betrothed of his cousin Robert Baratheon, the living embodiment of his house words. Although even Varys wasn't aware of the events preceding the alleged abduction and rape of Lyanna Stark by the crown prince but he had nonetheless used the absence of the Prince to instigate rumours about the same. Robert's wrath had been terrible and his anger against house Targeryn hasn't abated in the past one decade. 

 

Varys knew that so long as Robert is alive it was impossible to crown Aegon as a Targaryen because even as pathetic as a ruler Robert was, his iron grip on westeros was unshakeable. Stark, Tully, Arryn and Baratheon were the four pillars holding up his throne and with the Treasury of Casterly Rock bankrolling his regime even the Tyrells and Martells were cowed enough not to antagonize him. Oh there were murmers here and there. After all, even a stalwart king such as Jaeherys of old could not keep all his Lords happy and content. But there wasn't a single soul with the means and willingness to disturb the kings peace. Be that as it may, Aegon was young still and there was time enough to sow discord amongst the seven kingdoms, so that the resulting chaos may seat the black dragon on the Iron throne.

 

It was with these thoughts in mind that Varys started his day reviewing the reports he's received from various corners of the world. Recently, he'd been intrigued by the reports coming from the North. Initially, when he'd heard about the sprucing up of defenses of western coast of North by it's Warden, he'd dismissed them as precautionary measures against the Ironborn, which wasn't without merit. Meanwhile, the reports of repopulating the Gift and repairing of castles held by the Nights Watch had started coming in. He knew that the Northmen held the Nights Watch in high regard and formed bulk of its remaining strength but even by its high standards this was a peculiar development. Still Varys was willing to brush these off as isolated actions independent of each other.

 

However, the arrival of Wyman Manderly as the Master of Laws had set the warning bells ringing in his head. What was Eddard Stark upto? It was one question that was keeping him awake at nights. Lord Stark had initially been recalcitrant towards the authority of the Iron Throne maintaining minimum courtesies and merely paying his taxes. Something must have spooked him because in mere 3 years after king Robert's coronation, his foster brother had started taking interest in the affairs of the realm at large.  It was almost as if Eddard Stark had started playing the game. 

 

The King and the Lord Hand implicitly trusted their Warden of The North for Eddard Stark wasn't someone you'd expect to play the Game of Thrones. But with Lord Manderly in kings Landing the Lord of Winterfell could literally have the cake and eat it too. Manderly's were one of the most loyal bannermen's of Starks over a milenium. Whatever Wyman was doing in the capital or outside it, had the full backing of Winterfell. 

Had Stark restricted himself to maintain law and order he'd still be unfazed but Stark now had allies in two major houses in Crownlands and in another month the eldest son and heir of Randyll Tarly will start his fostering at Winterfell. Not to mention his wife being a Tully of Riverrun whose sister is the lady of Vale and the Lord Hands wife. Edmure Tully's wife to be was a Greyjoy of Pyke and any son borne out of their marriage could lay claim to the Seastone chair itself. 

 

If Varys wasn't careful then even after Robert's death the realm won't fracture the way he wants it to be. He could convince the Martells to support Aegon for either blood or vengeance but the Reach? Even if he could get the Tyrells to stray inside their camp the Florents were good family to Stannis and now it's best soldiers could soon be following the lead of a Tarly raised as Stark. Lord Tarly was known to hold little regard for his eldest son and heir and had visibly distanced himself from him after the birth of his younger son. But even he would find it difficult to replace his own legitimate heir should he married into the Starks.

 

If the reports coming from White Harbour are true than Stark would soon start work on Moat Cailin, the most formidable castle in entire Westeros, which even as a ruin has never been captured from South. Protective defenses in the north could be explained to be against wildlings, at the western coast probably against Ironborn but towards south as well could mean only one thing. Stark is preparing for war. North at its full strength could raise 40-45 thousand troops enough to match the levies raised by either Vale or Dorne, but should Eddard Stark succeeds, an assailable North could hit hard and deep into south without fearing retaliation. The Targaryens learned it the hard way and were knocked into oblivion. Varys would do well to learn from their mistakes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter introducing one of the major players in this story. The board is almost set. Two more chapters and the game begins.


	14. Heir to Horn Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samwell Tarly in Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phrases in quotes from A Game Of Thrones.

> _Fat and awkward and frightened he might be, but Samwell Tarly was no fool. One night he visited Jon in his cell. “I don’t know what you did,” he said, “but I know you did it.” He looked away shyly. “I’ve never had a friend before.”_
> 
> _“We’re not friends,” Jon said. He put a hand on Sam’s broad shoulder. “We’re brothers.”_
> 
>  

After almost a month of constant riding Sam had finally reached Winterfell. Once inside he’d been welcomed by Lord Stark, Warden of The North, whose cold grim demeanour somehow reminded him of his own father though his eyes held a certain softness to them which his father didn’t have. His wife the beautiful Lady Catelyn Stark nee’ Tully held an infant boy in her arms whom she called Bran. He was introduced to the eldest son and heir of Winterfell Robb, his sisters Sansa and Arya and lastly the natural born son of Lord Stark, Jon Snow who was assigned the task of escorting him inside.

Lord Stark provided lodgings for his escort party and his own belongings were moved to his designated room, which surprisingly was within the family quarters. His room though spacious was smaller than the one he had at Horn Hill but not colder. He was startled to find that he was sweating beneath his neck when Jon asked him to remove his cloak. His surprise must have shown on his face because Jon told him that Winterfell was built over hot springs and the hot water is moved through pipes inside the Castle walls, which kept it warm even during the coldest winters.

Sam instantly liked Jon, who was surprisingly the opposite of what he’d been taught about bastards. He was well-mannered, genuine and straightforward in the way he talked with him and exhibited none of the empty courtesies he’d received from the servants at his father’s castle. In the short time he’d spent in Winterfell, Sam seemed to have already made a friend.

During the feast held in his welcome, Sam was further introduced to the various members of Stark household, which he found quite different as compared to Horn Hill. It was later explained to him by Robb, that Lord Stark always said that a Lord must know his people because a day will come when they’d have to fight for him and one should never ask them to die for a stranger.

The food was filling, even if somewhat plain when compared to the delicacies served at Horn Hill, though the warmth displayed by the Stark family more than made up for it. So when Sam finally went to bed, he was content in the sense that he wasn’t any worse off than he was at home.

The morning came early. Jon told him that as the days are shorter and nights longer in the North, they prefer not to waste daytime by sleeping late. As it was his first day at Winterfell he was being shown around by Robb and Jon. Winterfell seemed bigger than he’d earlier presumed. It was a huge castle complex spanning several acres and protected by two massive walls. He’d seen a village outside, which Jon told was named Winter-Town. He was then taken towards ‘the heart of Winterfell’, as Robb put it, an ancient Godswood, with a huge Wierwood tree with a scary face bleeding red tears akin to blood. The sight almost made him sick so they quickly made their way out. Inside the castle walls, the complex had dozens of courtyards and small open spaces. When they arrived, Robb introduced him to Ser Rodrik Cassel, Master-at-Arms of Winterfell, overseeing weapons training and practice taking place in the yard and Jory Cassel, the Captain of Guards. It seemed that Robb was eager for the day’s training but had been told to take the day off by his father. Then he was taken towards the inner ward, which seemed to be a much older open space in the castle where archery practice took place.

Next he was taken to the Maestar’s Turret located below the rookery, where he met with Maestar Luwin, who he’d been introduced to earlier yesterday. After having lunch, Jon took him to the library which had so many books that he almost sent Jon away and thought of locking himself inside. Once again Jon was able to tell his thoughts as if he could read his mind. He smiled and said that he’ll have plenty of time to go through the entire lot of them as he’d be spending quite a few days with them. As they were about to leave, a guard came and summoned both of them to Lord Stark’s solar.

Once inside, Lord Stark asked him how he’d been faring to which Sam said that he was well. Lord Stark nodded at his reply and after sharing a look with Jon asked what his interests were. Sam was confused. He’d never been asked that kind of question by his father. When he didn’t offer any reply, Lord Stark stated that being the eldest son and heir of a Great house could be stifling at times so he’d like to know what activities Sam engaged in to unwind. Sam stated that his interests mostly lie in reading, singing and dancing, at which he chuckled and said that Sansa’s going to love him.

However, soon he grew serious and said that while he’ll have plenty of time to engage in his hobbies, being his ward he had certain expectations to fulfil namely he would be joining Robb in taking lessons from Maestar Luwin and Ser Rodrik from tomorrow. When he looked towards Jon, he was told that soon Lord Stark would be leading an entourage towards the Wall and Jon would go with him. Shocked he blurted out whether Jon is going to take the Black, he was told that Jon was too young to do that.

Eventually they were ushered out and sent to have dinner. After another sumptuous meal and having spent the entire day wandering around the Castle, Sam was more than a little tired but next day his training was to start  so he was more than a little anxious. Somehow Jon understood it and followed him inside his room and asked whether something was bothering him. He stated that he feared that he’d embarrass himself during the training. When Jon asked why he thought so, he stated that he was a coward and the sight of blood made him sick. Jon asked what made him think so. He replied that he KNEW he was a coward. Jon gave him a hard stare and said that he was confusing bravery with bloodlust and told him something Lord Stark had taught him long ago that a man can only be brave when he is afraid. He told him that he need to train as it is expected from him though his worth isn’t defined by his martial prowess alone. In the end Jon was able to impress upon him that while no one in the yard is going to hurt him it was time he controlled his fears rather than letting them control him.

The next few days were a blur of activity as men had started gathering within the castle and even at Winter-town to join Lord Stark’s entourage. While he spent most of his time with Robb taking lessons, Jon would be watching them in the training yard, constantly giving him silent encouragement through his eyes. Before coming to Winterfell, Sam had been told by his father that he was not to embarrass his house and his behaviour should meet the expectations of a Tarly. However, while in the training yard all his insecurities threatened to overwhelm him once again and had it not been for Jon, he’d have succumbed to his fear then and there itself.

Soon, Jon departed with his Lord Father and their retinue but not before extracting a promise from him that though he can't exactly force him to be brave but he can ask him to be braver and not to let anybody else see his fear. He also told Sam that he was part of his pack and wolves look after each other.

Eventually Sam resolved that he’s going to put his best foot forward and so when Ser Rodrik asked him to run ten laps around the sparring yard he did so. He was sweating inside his smallclothes by the time he finished but he didn’t allow himself to fall down. When he was asked to take up a wooden sword and made to go through drills like several other boys were doing he did likewise; when he was made to stand in front of a straw dummy and taught how to slice and thrust he did so too. He was made to sit upon a horse for half a day’s length and ride through the Wolfswood, so he did that too. Each task he was asked to do he did without complaint and soon Sam fell into a routine. Sometimes they would have a lesson in morning with the Maestar followed by weapons training, at other times it would be the other way around or followed by riding. All through it Sam soldiered on because he now trusted the Stark Words,

 

 

 

 

 

“Winter is coming”.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another filler chapter. One more to go.


	15. Back at the wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets Aemon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phrases in quotes have been taken from a wiki of ice and fire.

> _A stone causeway lies beneath the water that surrounds the holdfast, it is not a straight path but it ziggs and zaggs going a third of the way around the island before jagging back. The turns are treacherous, and the long path meant that anyone approaching would be exposed to arrow fire from the tower for a long time. When entering the tower true the stout oak door there is a small storeroom with a murder hole above it, from there steps built into the inner wall of the tower curve away upward to the left to the upper stories, and downward to the right into a under vault, both directions are locked behind iron grates. The second floor of the tower is a maze of small cells. The third floor of the tower has arrow slits, while the fourth has windows. The fifth floor is a large round chamber with three sides opening onto stone balconies, and along the fourth side is a privy chamber above the water. The tower's merlons are painted gold. The remnants of an inn and village can still be seen surrounded by apple and oak trees._

 

Jon remembered Queenscrown from the stormy night he'd betrayed Ygritte. He'd been here before that, having accompanied his father on earlier trips while visiting his bannermen and Mountain clans but it was that night that he remembered most. 

 

The ruined inn has been rebuilt and most houses in the village seem to have been recently repaired or built anew. Lord Arnolf of Queenscrown welcomes the Stark party along with his sons Cregan and Arthor Karstark and three grandsons. Jon remembers the treachery of Arnolf and his sons but understands that he needn't like every man he wants to use. 

 

Lord Stark awaits word from Lord GreatJon Umber who arrives with his men by the second day. He’d been informed that Lord Rickard Karstark would arrive at Castle Black within a week and as such they prepare to depart. More often than not most men confuse Jon as the trueborn son of Lord Stark which amuses Jon thinking what a fit Lady Catelyn would throw if she heard about it. Eventually the party leads further north.

 

While nearing Moles Town, at the urging of Lord Umber and Lord Karstark most of their hosts set up camps around the town, which really is just an overgrown village, while lord Stark proceed to Castle Black in the company of his prominent bannermen. 

 

Ever since crossing Queenscrown Jon has been haunted by his days spent at the Wall and beyond it. While the arrival of Sam at Winterfell had greatly calmed his heart, memories of his past life have left him a bundle of nerves. His father seems to have sensed his uneasiness and has on occasion pointed out that he’d been unconsciously opening and closing his right fist. He told him that after having burned his sword arm while killing the wight sent to kill the Lord Commander Mormont, he’d been asked by Maestar Aemon to do it as an exercise. His father is perturbed by the fact that they are arriving at the very place he was murdered by his comrades. He assures his father of being alright but his uneasiness keeps on growing.

 

The moment he enters the courtyard of Castle Black, his past life flashes past his eyes. He starts feeling dizzy. He hears his name being called by his father from a distance and soon the darkness consumes him.

 

He wakes up to the sound of herbs being grinded and someone pacing back and forth. Somehow he knows that he’s been lying in the Maestar’s Tower and Maestar Aemon is probably concocting some potion to resuscitate him. The other sound probably belongs to his father who had been against him coming to the Wall from the start. As it is he’d been concerned about his mental health and the last thing Jon wants is to jeopardize all his plans because he was too much a babe to face his own fears. What was it that he’d told Sam, a man can only be brave when he is afraid. Well no better time to walk the talk than now.

 

Jon slowly opened his eyes and found both his father and the Maestar talking in hushed tones. He cleared his throat to speak and was immediately swarmed by both. He tells his father that he’s better now and asks him to leave him with the Maestar. His father is concerned but excuses himself after giving him a pointed look. Maestar Aemon has a curious look on his face which almost seems like he’s scrutinizing Jon but his eyesight is as lost as it was in his past life so Jon dismisses the notion.

After poking and prodding his chest and believing his breathing to be normal, Aemon asks Jon what prompted his collapse on arrival in Castle Black. Jon lied smoothly and stated that he’d been beyond tired for a while and apparently the excitement of seeing the Wall must have proved too much for him. Jon knows that Aemon doesn’t buy it but merely nods. After providing him with refreshments, Aemon gets busy with his own work. Jon gets down and after ensuring that they were alone calls Aemon who is feeding the ravens.

“Maestar I want to ask something", Jon stated.

“What is it Master Jon”, Aemon said without bothering to turn his way.

“What can you tell me about Rhaegar Targaryen?”

That seem to get the attention of the old Maestar for he stopped in his tracks and asked, “Why did you ask?”

Jon took a deep breath and said, “because he’s the one who sired me.”

The Maestar turned so sharply that Jon feared he must have broken his neck. He dropped the minced meat he was holding and grabbed Jon by the shoulders. Weak and shrivelled Aemon had been for quite some time but for a moment he seemed to be stronger than most, “What did you say?”

“I am the son of Lyanna Stark”, as soon as the words left his lips the Maestar seemed to have shrunk with age once more and had Jon not held him steady, he feared the Maestar would have collapsed.

“How?”

“After lifting the siege of Storm’s End, my fa...Lord Stark travelled to the Red Mountains in Dorne. He had information that his sister is being kept in a Tower there. When he arrived there, he found that the remaining three Kingsguard were keeping watch. After they refused to submit or allow him to meet his sister a fight ensued in which five companions of my father and all three Kingsguard died. When he finally found his sister, she died in his arms after extracting a promise to keep me safe.”

“She died in childbirth”, Aemon said.

“She did.”

After that Jon put Aemon ‘s hand on his shoulder and half carried, half dragged him to the nearest chair and deposited him there. He looked around for a drink but found nothing warm so sat nearby watching the old Maestar coming to the terms of his revelations.

“When did Lord Stark told you the truth about your parents?”

“He never did.”

“Then how do you know it’s true?”

“I once had a dream and confronted my father. It wasn’t hard to get the details after that.”

“Dreams? What kind of dreams?”

“Good and bad ones. Wolf dreams. Dragon dreams.”

“Come here. Let me see you”

Jon stood in front of Aemon and allowed him to feel his face with his fingers.

“I suppose you have the hair and eyes of your mother.”

“Eyes, yes but father says my hair are darker than hers.”

“Good for you. It would have been impossible for Lord Stark to claim you as his had it been otherwise. You seem to have inherited the cheekbones and nose of Betha Blackwood, wife to my brother Egg and it seems hair too if what you claim is right. There’s no Valyrian feature apparent in you looks.”  

“Indeed.”

“The Gods have a wicked sense of humour. They would smile upon you when you least suspect it. I’ve spent close to six decades here at Castle Black and the last one had been especially cruel after I heard about the rebellion. It’s good to know that my blood  yet survives.”

“You believe me?”

“Why won’t I? The fury of Robert Baratheon for my house is well known even at this end of Westeros. You would be mad to say something like this out loud knowing that it was the cruelty done by Aerys against House Stark that sparked the rebellion; but that’s not the only thing. You see I had a dream too.”

“You did? Was it the raven?’

“Raven?” Aemon chuckled. “Oh, he’s Raven alright. Tell me did he appeared as a three-eyed raven in your dreams?”

“Who are you talking about? It was a talking raven alright and yes with a third eye right above his beak. Why are you smiling?”

“Have you ever heard the phrase _thousand eyes and one?_ ”

“No.”

“Brynden Rivers infamously known as Lord Bloodraven, was one of the great bastards sired and later legitimized by King Aegon IV on his deathbed. He was a Targaryen loyalist during the Blackfyre Rebellions. He served as the Hand to King Aerys I and my father King Maekar. He was eventually sent to the watch by my younger brother Aegn V when he was chosen as the successor to our father as King . When I sailed for the Wall in 233 AC, I was escorted by Ser Duncan the Tall of the Kingsguard, accompanied by an honour guard of recruits for the Night's Watch. There were two hundred men and prisoners, among them Brynden Rivers. He was elected as Lord Commander in 239 AC.  However, he disappeared while ranging beyond the Wall in 252 AC.”

“I know some of it, but why the impromptu history lesson?”

“ _How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have_ _? a riddle ran. A thousand eyes, and one. Some claimed that he was a student of the dark arts who could change his face, put on the likeness of a one-eyed dog, even turn into a mist. Packs of gaunt gray wolves hunted down his foes and carrion crows spied for him and whispered secrets in his ear._ Though he is thought to have been lost beyond the Wall almost three decades prior, I believe he is still alive and it is he who’s behind your dreams _._ ”

“If what you say is true than he’s older than me by a hundred odd years. How could he be alive and most importantly how is he able to communicate with us?”

“I don’t know the what and how of it Jon, I’m as clueless about this as you are. It’s just that before your arrival he appeared in one of my dreams and asked me to give you a letter he left with me before he went ranging beyond the wall.”

Jon helped Aemon rummage through his belongings and finally fished out a box slightly bigger than his palm having the sigil of House Blackwood carved on its top. Opening it he found a scroll of parchment rolled small enough to carry by a raven. He opened it and read it aloud,

 

 

 

“Go to the place where you first took your oath, where nine faces stare at each other. Dig the earth where their eyes meet. She’ll be waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the story so far seems rushed. We are now entering the main part of the story so the next chapter may take a while. Please be patient.


	16. Dark Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phrases taken from a Game of Thrones.

“Go to the place where you first took your oath, where nine faces stare at each other. Dig the earth where their eyes meet. She’ll be waiting for you.”

Aemon had a contemplative look over his face, “I believe you know what it means.”

Jon was still struggling whether to tell Aemon the entire truth or not, so he said, “I had a dream once. I found myself taking the oath of the Nights watch beneath a grove of 9 Wierwood trees, quite possibly it’s beyond the Wall. Do you know such a place?”; he asked already knowing the answer.

“There is in fact such a place. Not half a day’s ride away from the here. It used to be his favoured brooding place other than the Wall itself,” Aemon replied. 

“Whom did he meant by she?”

“If I’m correct, which I think I mostly am, it’s a family heirloom, so to say.”

“Family heirloom?”

“A sword to be precise.”

‘Sword?’ thought Jon, ‘he couldn’t possibly mean?’

“You are thinking too loudly Jon. Just say it”, Aemon grinned.

“Dark sister?”, Jon half whispered, half questioned.

“Yes. You don’t seem too happy?”

“Well, why me?”

“You are the only person of our bloodline, this side of Westeros. I thought that should suffice.”

“You said you came here in 233 AC, that means the sword has been here all this time. With Blackfyre lost, god knows where, why wasn’t it returned to Kings Landing.”

“You don’t miss much do you. We could have used a person of your intelligence here, Jon. Ah, well. I think he had a fair idea of our family’s impending doom, so must have felt there was no point in leaving it at a place where someone outside our family could claim it.”

“Why not give it to you? You would have kept it safe.”

“There are reasons for it son. Tell me who was the first known wielder of Dark sister and who was the last.”

“Visenya Targaryen and Brynden Rivers.”

“Do you know what is common between the two?”

“It has been said that both were alleged practitioners of dark arts and sorcerers.”

“You are right, to an extent. Dark Sister is not an ordinary sword Jon; it has a thirst for blood. No ordinary man can wield it without getting affected in return. It has a will of its own. It can imbue its wielder with the power to subdue any opponent, but first he or she would need to bend the sword to its will or else disaster may follow, much like a dragon. There’s a reason why Targaryen Kings wielded Blackfyre and not Dark Sister. As to why I couldn't keep it is not for me to say. I guess you will have your answers soon enough. Just be patient. Though i believe we’ll need to seek permission from Lord Stark first. He might have something to say about it after what happened to you upon your arrival.”

Aemon was right. He had suppressed his emotions surrounding his death for too long and the same had overwhelmed him at the wrong time. He’ll have to face Bowen Marsh and others at some point of time. Hiding away in the Maestar’s Tower will not help in any way and may well jeopardize the entire visit.

As they sat thinking over their options there was a knock on the door. “Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell”, a guard announced. “Please come in”, Aemon steadied himself while standing up.

His father rushed to his side the moment he noticed him sitting on his own, “Jon are you well?”

“I am well father. Just a little tired from the journey that’s all.”

“Benjen asked about you.”

“Really. Where is he?”

“He’s been sent with the Lord Steward to Moles Town to enquire about the welfare of the rest of the host”

‘ _So Bowen Marsh has been sent away, at least for a while’_ , Jon mused. ‘ _Good_ ’.

“So you have met Maestar Aemon.”

“I have. It’s been an enlightening experience”, Jon stated giving a meaningful look to his father.

“Master Jon has been a pleasure so far, Lord Stark. I thank you for the opportunity”, Aemon had the look of a man who’d been saved from drowning.

“Jon has my blood, Maestar. It was the only thing to do”, his father’s face was set hard but his eyes belied that he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

“There are things we need to discuss father. Alone”, Jon stated pointedly.

His father outside for a brief moment to dismiss his guards and then returned after carefully closing the door. “Tell me”, he said while sitting himself on the nearby chair.

“There’s been a letter for me by a former Lord Commander, Lord Brynden Rivers.”

“Bloodraven? He’s been dead for decades?”

“Apparently no, Lord Stark. You see he was reported missing on a ranging but it was never confirmed whether he died”, Maestar Aemon offered.

“Even if I were to believe you, the man must be older than even you Maestar. How can any man survive for so long beyond the Wall, let alone send a letter?”

“Actually the letter has already been here, since he left, father”, Jon took out the letter and handed over it to him.

Surprise briefly flashed through his face, but father carefully schooled his features again before stating, “and you know of this place?”

“Maestar Aemon tells there’s a place not far from here.  I believe uncle Benjen could escort us there”, Jon stated while nodding.

“I’ll be leaving with my men soon to inspect the newly furbished castles”,  _‘you shouldn’t be staying here’_  went unsaid.

“I’ll be staying with Maestar Aemon”, Jon stated flatly.

“I believe an escort can be arranged for young Master Jon, Lord Stark”, Aemon tried to pacify.

Finally, father relented, sighing heavily he stated, “I guess it can. Come it is time for dinner. This discussion will go a lot better with something warm in our bellies”

Ironically, dinner was held in the presence of several high officers of the Watch save Bowen Marsh, so Jon minded his business and kept quiet. It was only later when he was sent to bed that he could tell father what all has transpired with Maestar Aemon. The anxiety was plan to see on father’s face. Nonetheless, he agreed that it was Jon’s decision to make and all he can do is make preparations to keep him safe. As such he assigned Lew and Donnis to escort Jon wherever he wishes to go. It went without saying that both were unflinchingly loyal to House Stark and would defend Jon with their lives. Both were asked to keep all happenings to themselves and report only to Lord Stark once he returns.

Beyond tired, Jon soon fell asleep. In the night he was again visited by the raven who confirmed most of what Aemon had told him. He categorically stated that nobody should touch the sword before he pulls it out from its resting place. To neutralize the wards he had placed upon its hiding place he'll need to light a fire preferably with leaves, bark or wood of a wierwood tree.

By the time he awoke next day and broke his fast, his father was ready to leave. He’d requested Lord Commander to let Jon spend some time with Maestar Aemon as he was quite fond of books and was hopeful that Castle Black might hold some rare texts in its library. Aemon played along. Moreover, Benjen was asked to escort Jon beyond the Wall, who'd protested as expected but father was able to silent him in a short time. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming on what he told him but the absence of any uncomfortable questions from his uncle was welcome nonetheless.

 They set out late that afternoon. The Wall had no gates as such, neither here at Castle Black nor anywhere along its three hundred miles. They led their horses down a narrow tunnel cut through the ice, cold dark walls pressing in around them as the passage twisted and turned. Three times their way was blocked by iron bars, and they had to stop while his uncle drew out his keys and unlocked the massive chains that secured them. Jon could sense the vast weight pressing down on him as he waited behind uncle Benjen. The air was colder than a tomb, and more still. He felt a strange relief when they reemerged into the afternoon light on the north side of the Wall.

Jon had done this before, in another life though then Sam had been with him as did Ghost. He wondered about his companion. It almost felt like a part of him was missing. Once they had entered the forest everything changed. The trees pressed close and shut out the light of the setting sun. A thin crust of snow cracked beneath the hooves of their horses, with a sound like breaking bones. When the wind set the leaves to rustling, it was like a chilly finger tracing a path up Jon’s spine. The Wall was at their backs, and only the gods knew what lay ahead.

The sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a small clearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough circle. Lew drew in a breath, and he saw Donnis staring. Even in the wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby. His uncle commanded them to leave their horses outside the circle. “This is a sacred place, we will not defile it.”

When they entered the grove, Jon turned slowly looking at each face in turn. No two were quite alike. “They’re watching us,” his uncle whispered. “The old gods.”

“I need to do this alone.” Jon knelt, and the guards went back to the horses. 

After praying to his gods for a while Jon felt it was time. Slowly he walked and stood what he believed to be the centre of the grove. He felt himself being drawn towards a particular spot. A feeling like something calling for him, something he'd been searching for, something that belonged to him. 

Having found the place he'd been searching for Jon starts to make a pile of fallen leaves. Soon he's made a rough circle by gathering a pile that is at least a couple feet high. He runs back to get some oil to soak the pile and soon lights a fire and silently watches as the flames instead of spreading upwards, spiral downs such that a hole just wide enough to slip his arm inside appears, glowing with a reddish tinge. He waits for the flames to die and carefully lowers his arm inside the hole. When his arm has gone inside way past his elbow, he's able to touch it. Pushing himself further he grabs the hilt and immediately a shock of energy courses through his entire body. Gritting his teeth he summons every ounce of his energy and pulls it out. 


	17. Back to Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journey back to Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phrases taken from 'A Dragon of the North' by Droman

Shaken to the core, it took some time for Jon to catch his breath and get his bearings. Time he used to examine his newest possession. The sword is a thing of beauty. A wavy crossguard, flames on the pommel, slender blade crafted for a woman’s hand, it is almost as tall as Jon is now. It's dark smoky hue reminds him of Longclaw.

 _‘Was it hidden here the whole time? Waiting for me to come and claim it?’,_ Jon mused.

 _‘No. it wasn’t before but your arrival had set off ripples on the sea of time. Adjustments needed to be made,’_ a voice answered back.

 _‘Who's that’,_ Jon was surprised by the intrusion _._

 _‘The three eyed raven’,_ the voice said back in a flat tone.

 _‘Wonderful. So now I can hear you in my head even when I'm awake?’_ Jon was getting annoyed.

_‘Umm. Yes. Is that a problem.’_

_‘Problem? No. Inconvenience. Yes’,_ he explained _._

 _‘Oh well. I apologize for the inconvenience, your grace. I'll knock on your doors or may be on your head the next time I need to announce myself’,_ the voice retorted back _._

Thankfully, nothing happened afterwards so they gathered their belongings and started back for Castle Black. Their return didn't seem as long as their outbound journey, to Jon's relief. He had Dark Sister tied to his saddle in a dark brown leather pack. He had to hold it the entire time as there was nowhere else it would fit. They rode through the tunnel beneath the wall and dismounted only once they were inside.

Jon thanked his uncle for coming with him. They parted company and Jon returned to Maestar Aemon who had been sitting by the fire with a blanket of fur over his knees and a cup of hot soup in his hands. It seemed one of his assistants had been caring for him in his absence, so Jon waited for him to leave before saying anything.

 Jon held it in his hands proudly. "I found it, Maestar Aemon."

The Maestar’s blank, milky eyes turned towards him but Jon could see that he was also smiling.

"Let me touch it," he said, carefully placing his cup on a table.

Jon rushed to help him and put Dark Sister in his lap. "She's here."

Maestar Aemon reacquainted himself with the sword. "As clean as the day it was forged, not a speck of dust on it. Did you clean it on the way?" said Aemon, fingers running over the rippled blade.

“No. I was instructed to conduct a ritual to drive the wards placed upon it by lord Bloodraven. It must have cleaned away whatever rot or rust there must have been.”

“Valyrian steel doesn't rust my boy. Though it seems you're going to need a scabbard for this one. Pull that parchment, I’ve placed near the ink pot. I belive it’s the correct measurements. You can give it to Donal Noye in the morning. Would you prefer to change the hilt and the crossguard? A white wolf perhaps with ruby eyes?”

“No. Too many people here. I'll get it done at Winterfell should I think of doing it.”

Their conversation veered to inane subjects after that. However, soon Jon was ready to discuss his past life with Aemon and slowly began to tell his story.

Dinner was a quite affair with the Maestar. He was too full and tired afterwards that he dozed off where he was sitting. It was only when he woke up that he realised that more blankets had been placed upon him during the night.

Jon soon fell into a routine. He hasn't yet properly started his weapons training at Winterfell, what with him spending too much time with books and quill. With nothing else to do, he followed Maestar Aemon around, who would ask about his day to day life in general at Winterfell, now or before and how his studies were going. Jon was learned beyond his age. Maestar Aemon suggested he might as well master high Valyrian. He had a basic understanding of the tongue so sought books on the same. After a few lessons while performing day to day tasks for the Maestar he started improving his command on the language. 

Jon ended up spending close to three months at Castle Black. Most black brothers had become so used to his presence by now that almost everyone thought he'll be staying back. So by the time his lord father retuned and preparations were being made to go back to Winterfell a lot of them expressed their surprise.

Maestar Aemon had packed a lot of books and scrolls for him to take back to Winterfell. Some needed to be restored but mostly were in good condition. A few were rare enough that those were probably the only copies of them in the world. Jon knew Sam would cry tears of joy if he found out. By the time they were done, there were enough books to fill an entire cart. 

Finally, the day of departure came. Maestar Aemon insisted on saying his goodbyes in private. He expressed his gratitude towards Lord Stark for his kindness and generosity to have allowed him to spend time with the last of his family for which he was eternally grateful. When he hugged him his eyes were full of tears.

“Take care young Jon. I hope we meet again.”

\-----------------

The journey back to Winterfell went easier as compared to the one while coming towards North. His father informed him about the developments taking place within his domain. Before coming to Castle Black, he’d instructed Lord Manderly to send a delegation in the name of House Stark to Dorne, which has returned after securing an agreement wherein the North shall supply ice to House Martell and will receive its weight in sand.

In order to facilitate the same, Ports at Eastwatch and Westwatch have been expanded with a shipyard being constructed at the former financed by House Manderly. Ships will be commissioned at Eastwatch wherein ice/snow shall be procured and packed into barrels which will then be transported to Dorne after collecting supplies from Braavos in exchange of other materials such as animals’ skins, wool and timber obtained from beyond the wall. The latter is being done with an ulterior objective to establish trade lines beyond the Wall so that the wildlings/freefolk may be exposed to the concept of interacting with the people of south in a non-threatening way. The ships, after collecting sand from Dorne will move towards north-west till they dock at either Stony Shore, Sea-Dragon point or Bear Island. Once Moat Cailin has been made habitable a small but functional port will be set up at the mouth of Fever River which will be connected to the Moat via road.

When he asked how he convinced Lord Umber and Karstark to the idea, his father replied that he didn’t even discussed it. Instead he just put forth the idea of bringing the entire region within his domain and using the resources lying beyond the Wall for the North’s benefit. While his bannermen may frown upon using timber from their own lands and using their game animals for the purpose of trade, they won’t have the same concern for those lying beyond the Wall, as technically those are not their lands. If this leads to increased assimilation with the wild tribes of the North, they would most likely look the other way than acknowledging the benefits accruing out of it openly.

It was further admitted by his father that while the Lord Commander and his officers were not keen to change their attitude towards the wildlings, after much persuasion they were willing to establish watchtowers further up north which would double-up as trade centres wherein the freefolk can trade their wares with the Watch in exchange of food items, so long as Winterfell would pay for it. He was also made aware of his father’s declaration that any person living beyond the wall could settle in the lands of New Gift, if they were willing to swear fealty towards House Stark.

In addition to this he told that Mance has deserted from the Watch and it was indeed after he had been treated by a wildling woman after being attacked by a shadowcat. Jon and his father hoped that a strong garrison at Wall would be enough to dissuade Mance to taking up arms against it.

\-------------

After a month of riding, they finally reached Winterfell. As usual they were received enthusiastically having been gone for almost half a year. Jon was set upon by both Robb and Sam who seemed a lot happier than he had ever seen him in that other life. Though Lady Catelyn’s annoyance on seeing him was palpable her relief and happiness on seeing her husband took precedence. Sansa too was bouncing on her feet to meet her father but was somewhat subdued in expressing her joy on seeing him. No doubt someone must have enlightened her as to his status in the household. However, Jon forgot all that once Arya came running and barrelled into him. While Lady Catelyn was too shocked at the unladylike behaviour of her daughter, Jon, Robb, father and Sam burst out laughing. Soon the horses were taken towards stables and the men broke out to find lodgings and refreshment.

Jon was too tired and thus, barely awake for most of the feast. To avoid lady Stark, he’d chosen to sit at the lower tables and seeing the expression of his father he knew he’d made the right decision. Once he’d eaten to his heart’s content he went towards his room and promptly went to sleep.

He woke up early the next day and after freshening himself went to find Robb to share stories of the past half year they had spent separately.

As he is making his way through Winterfell to father’s antechamber, he hears both his voice and that of Lady Stark through a barely open door.

“The boy is almost eight, as is Robb, yet it is him that you took with you during this tour. Initially I had hoped he’ll be staying with his uncle but that was mostly wishful thinking. Sansa is 5 and already knows the difference between their stations. We already have a second son in Bran. Gods willing, we are both still young enough to have several more. I know you care for him deeply Ned, but a bastard is done little favour raised in his father’s house and for all that I prayed for him during his sickness, I cannot abide keeping him in my home.”

“He is my blood,” said your father quietly “I will not throw him out of my house as if he were an unwanted dog.”

 _‘They’re talking about me?’,_ Jon mused _._

“I don’t ask you to,” she said softly “But there is little shame to send him elsewhere, if only for an education. To hear Maestar Luwin, he spends much of his time in the library, reading old books and asking so many questions. Send him to Oldtown to be a Maestar, to learn their ways. Or send him to one of your bannermen, like Howland Reed. He would not begrudge you the insult, and you’ve spoken warmly of him on many an occasion. Surely he’d take the boy? If it’s insult or shame to him you fear, I could talk to my uncle Brynden. He’s serving as Knight of the Gate in the Vale, and could probably use a squire. I’ll write to him and make the request.”, but father remains silent.  
“Ned,” she starts gently “I’m not asking you to send him to the Night’s Watch or to kill him in his sleep. But every day I see him alongside Robb my heart breaks a little more. I dream horrible dreams of you setting me aside, of setting our children aside and naming him as your heir. Of Robb and Bran dying and me giving you no more sons. I do not love him, and I do not think I ever will for what he is. But at least give me peace of mind and peace of heart, and send him away for a while. Let him set roots elsewhere, away from Winterfell. I ask this of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter onward i'll be following 'A Dragon of the North' by Droman, well mostly.. ;-)


	18. A Journey begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon goes away from Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost entirety of the chapter follows 'A Dragon of the North' with few exceptions.

Jon left as quickly and as quietly as he could and locked himself up in his room. After an hour or so (during which he told Robb, Sam and the others to leave him alone), he considered over his next course of action. Initially, he contemplated telling her the truth of his existence and his return from death, but quickly realised that it won’t go down well and that this could be an opportunity.

  
As much as he cherished his family and Winterfell, it never felt as if he belonged here and there wasn’t much that tied him down too strongly. He'd always felt the urge to see the world from time to time, to be known for more than the being Lord Stark’s bastard. He had already spent one life chafing under Lady Stark’s watch and rule, and many of his worst punishments for pranks and mischief came when he acted too recklessly, too independently. While he would always see Winterfell as his home, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that the both of them could use some time away from each other.

  
But where to go? The suggestions Lady Stark mentioned in the antechamber were definitely not the only places he could, but as a short-list he couldn’t have done much better. As a reader and an inquisitive sort (though some might call him nosy), he knew Lord Howland Reed was one of his father’s most loyal bannerman, who’d fought at his side for all of the Rebellion. He already knew who his mother was, but what if he was bound to secrecy by his liege? Then he’d be stuck in a swamp for a few good years, all for nothing.

  
Oldtown sounded like a good idea on paper, but there would be no friends there, no Stark allies to make introductions and look after him. While that is something of the freedom he longs for, he knows that his father would be sending guards there or making similar arrangements for him, which he didn’t want. Moreover, if what he knew about the Maestars was correct, they were a rather unimaginative lot when it comes to the things Jon want to know more about, like wargs, greenseers, children of the forest and most importantly White Walkers. Somehow Jon felt that going to Oldtown may not work for him as well as it would for someone like Sam.

  
The Night’s Watch? Not again!!!

  
Then the Blackfish, Lady Stark’s uncle? Maestar Luwin had told a couple of tales about him, and Lady Stark has shared several more with Robb that have been shared with Jon. A war hero, one of the greatest knights of the realm and a hero of the War of the Ninepenny Kings that saw an end to the Blackfyre pretenders that threatened the Targaryen kings. Well, before King Robert and his father did them in. If he became a knight, he’d learn warcraft from the greatest of possible tutors. He'd be able to take a new surname, one that won't get him cursed and banished from Westeros; one that didn’t shout to the skies and beyond that he was a bastard of the North.

  
He could come back and serve Robb, or go elsewhere and make a name for himself. As a hedge knight like Ser Duncan the Tall, before he became a member of the Kingsguard?

 

The image of himself standing in the shining white armour of the Kingsguard, with Dark Sister strapped at his hip, to be called the Dragonknight reborn nearly swept him away, before he remembered who's the present king and his "heir". But the idea had merit and doesn't leave him in peace. In fact, he almost felt that lord Bloodraven himself might be pushing him towards his namesake knight. Fine, he will go. To Ser Brynden, the Blackfish of Tully and Knight of the Bloody Gate. To act as his page and squire and learn from him what he can. To become a great knight and a greater legend.

 

After getting out of bed and looking out the window, he realized that darkness has fallen and that dinner will be starting soon, if it hasn’t already. Rushing to wash up to avoid an earful when he arrives, he quickly splashed water on his face and neck so as to avoid questions for his reddened eyes. In a few minutes, he is half-presentable and rushing down the halls.

 

He arrived just in time as people are beginning to seat themselves and the food is being produced from the kitchens, planting himself next to Robb.

  
“Where have you been?” he hissed, as he jabbed his fork into a heap of boiled potatoes placed before him “You were being so miserable earlier! What happened?”

  
“It’s nothing,” Jon whisper back “I’ll tell you tomorrow if I can.”

  
“Tell me now,” Robb said with a huff “I’ll keep it a secret, I swear.”

  
“It’s not a secret,” he protested “Not yet.”

  
“What are you boys up to?” says Lady Stark from Robb’s other side as she tries to feed a gurgling Bran. He can practically hear the suspicion in her words.

  
“Nothing!” they both say hurriedly.

  
Lady Stark looks to say something more, but a squeal from Bran distracts her from the both of them. Jon give silent thanks to his little brother for his timely distraction, and dig into the food.

  
An hour later, he found himself stuffed to the gills and more than a little sleepy. But he has a mission to accomplish! Shaking off his drowsiness he goes to his Father and Lady Stark, trying to act as serious and grown-up as possible.

  
“Father,” Jon starts politely “Could I speak to you and Lady Stark for a moment in private?”

  
His father frowns for a second in concern, before nodding. Lady Stark nods as well with a sigh, before handing a sleeping Bran, Arya and Sansa to the maids with directions to take them to bed and watch over them until their arrival.

  
Robb looks ready to complain and ask to accompany them, but a pleading look Jon give him sees a pouty nod in return as he and Sam trudge off to bed. As the dining hall empties except for the cleaning staff, the three of them walk out and to a nearby room.

 

“What is it, Jon?” father says with a barely restrained yawn. Good to know Jon's not the only one sleepy.

  
“I overheard you and the Lady Stark earlier,” his words come out in a rush, “And I want to go.”

  
“Jon-“  
  
“I want to go,” he repeats “to Ser Brynden Tully in the Vale. It’s where you grew up, isn’t it? I want to go. I want to go and learn and I’ll be a good page, a good squire! Maybe I’ll even become a knight! I promise I won’t be any trouble!

  
“Jon-“  
  
“I promise!”

  
“Jon,” father says with a sigh, as if a headache has come over him “Jon, we will talk about this in the morning. But for now, go to bed.”

  
With a hesitant nod he does as asked and go to bed for a night of fitful and worrisome sleep.  
  
The next day, Maestar Luwin takes him to his father who ask him again if this is what he want. Jon respond in the affirmative, and his father gives Maestar Luwin two letters: One to the Eyrie to make the offer to Ser Brynden and one to King’s Landing to inform Lord Arryn of its occurrence, as Ser Brynden serves as his steward. Further, both father and son discuss the progress they have achieved so far and father informs him that repair work had started at Moat Cailin and his bannermen have started expanding the causeway that goes through the Neck. Once Ser Wendel has married Lady Lollys, he’ll be taking command of the refurbished stronghold and further work on its expansion shall be done under his watch.

 

In respect of the Wall, Jon urges his father to undertake repair works at some more castles but he refuses saying that the expenditure incurred so far is putting strain on their coffers as it is and only their knowledge of a long summer is allowing him to dig into his reserves. He assures Jon that once they have achieved self-sufficiency in food grains they will revisit their accord with the Night’s Watch. He informs him that Galbart Glover had initiated correspondence with Walder Frey and has agreed to marry his fourth daughter, the second born from his marriage to Lady Alyssa Blackwood, Lady Tyta Frey before the year’s end. The dowry is considered sufficient to raise a stone keep in place of Deepwood Motte but the project itself shall keep him occupied for another 5 years.

 

Jon wonders whether they should approach other Lord Paramounts for reinforcements for the Night’s Watch to which his father replies that he had already spoken with Lord Hoster Tully and the Lord Hand Jon Arryn but both have their hands full at the moment. As he doesn’t expect other Lords to seriously consider his request he hasn’t bothered to do so. He assures Jon that they still have plenty of time to prepare for the long night and that he wasn’t the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch anymore and not solely responsible for this cause. He’s already gone beyond the call of his duty and chided him for thinking so little of their achievements so far. He praised him for his efforts and instructed him to focus on his training with Ser Brynden and make him proud. 

 

A few days later, responses were received from both Ser Brynden who accepted and Jon Arryn who gave his blessings. In a couple of days, Jon would ride to White Harbour with a group of Stark men, where he will take voyage to Gulltown. There, Ser Brynden or his representatives will be waiting. An announcement of his impending departure is made at lunch.

  
And to put it bluntly, Robb does not take this well.

  
At first he protests, saying to his parents that they can’t just send him away. When he notices that Jon isn’t protesting or yelling, he turns to him and demands to know if this was what he wouldn’t tell him, what he’d been upset about the other night.

  
When Jon say yes, he wants to know why he wasn’t upset now, why he didn’t want to stay. He doesn’t give him much of a chance to respond, leaving the dining hall despite the calls of his father and mother. Without hesitation, Jon stand up and follow after him.  
  
After a few minutes of chasing him around Winterfell, the two of them have it out. A lot of yelling, a bit of crying and some brotherly fighting (culminating in a bloody nose) ensues, but by the end of it a reluctant acceptance is achieved.

  
Robb still doesn’t approve, but Jon's the one going, not him. A promise to visit as often as possible (Jon's sure that Ser Brynden wouldn’t mind visiting his niece or her children) cheers him up a little, but ultimately it’s nothing that can be helped.

  
With a day left before Jon has to ride to White Harbour with his guard, he had just enough time to make his final goodbyes. His belongings already packed in a trunk (Dark Sister lying at the bottom, hidden from everyone save his father) and loaded in the cart, Jon make his way to the keep’s courtyard, where several of his father’s men wait for him under the command of Jory, ready to escort him to White Harbour. Father Robb, Sam, Sansa and Arya along with Lady Stark and Bran, curiously, Mikken the Blacksmith is also present, standing with a wrapped roll of sorts that he presents to his father.

  
“Milord.”  
  
“My thanks,” father says distractedly before nodding to Jon.

  
Taking the hint, Jon moves to an unmounted pony next to Jory and clamber on to it. It neighs and moves a bit, but otherwise moves at his command. Father steps forward, his back to Robb and Sam as he looks at Jon. He quickly unrolls the package from Mikken, and presents a wolf-pommelled dagger. Jon takes it, and at his wink put it hastily in a satchel on the pony’s side.

  
“Stay safe,” father says “write often, and try to stay out of trouble?”

  
“I’ll try,” Jon offers as he raises his voice “it’ll be easy without Robb around!”

  
“Shut it, Jon!” Robb shouts in return as Sam chimes in “Yeah, you’re the one always getting us in trouble!”

  
“Haven’t even left and they’ve already turned on you, have they?” mutters Jory with amusement “That’s loyalty for you.”

  
“Aye,” father says as he steps back next to Robb “Now be off. I’d like you to get there before I get a raven from Ser Brynden asking where you were.”

  
Jon nod wordlessly, and turn the pony to begin his journey-

  
“Jon.”  
  
Only for Lady Stark to call him. Turning around, he sees her stepping forward, close enough to speak to him as his father had.

  
“This wasn't how I intended things,” she says with a sigh “I just…”

 

“It’s not quite how I wanted things either,” Jon says with a sad smile “I don’t think many mothers want bastards in their homes. And I’d have left sooner or later. At least this way I’m making something of it, Lady Stark.”

  
“Jon,” she starts before sighing again “I-”

 

“It’s all right Lady Stark,” he says with a soft smile “It’s not like I’ll be gone forever. I mean, I can come back and visit, right?”

  
“Yes,” she admits quietly “You can come back and visit any time, Jon.”

  
He nods once and then turn to Jory. He wordlessly nods in response and in near-unison, he and his guards ride through the gates of the keep. And then out of Winterfell, and to White Harbour.

 

Jon arrives at White Harbour several days later, a large harbour city located south of Winterfell and the seat of House Manderly. The largest settlement north of the Neck but the smallest among the five major cities of Westeros, White Harbour is the North's primary trade port. Due to its location and the history of its ruling House, White Harbour has more contact with the south and there are more knights and followers of the Faith of the Seven in White Harbour than anywhere else in the North. In short, it’s a glimpse of the life Jon will be living in the Vale, in the Eyrie.

  
It’s not quite so bad, Jon muses. Some of it reminds him of Winter-town, only bigger. There’s a lot more … life, but otherwise, he can see quite a few similarities. Like snooty merchants. And grumpy guards. And people trying to sell stuff. Speaking of which…

  
“Jon,” Jory call out as he pulled his horse back to ride alongside him, “The passage to Gulltown is already been booked. A gift from Lord Manderly to your father, it seems. That however, leaves us with a good bit of coin meant for your purposes. Do you want to buy anything here? Keep the money for later? Or would you like me to simply give it back to your father when we get back to Winterfell? We’ve got an hour or two…”

  
Jon almost consider making a run through the market districts, looking at weapons, clothes, or food. But ultimately, caution overrides any such immediate reactions. As a page and a ward of Ser Brynden, he probably won’t be needing money for much, but that doesn’t mean he won’t find times where he will need it, and two silver stags are worth quite a lot to the right person.

  
“Could you keep it for me until we meet with Ser Brynden, Jory?” Jon ask politely “I’d rather not spend it right now.”

“Understood,” the Winterfell man-at-arms says with a smile as he surreptitiously packs the small coin pouch away.

The small party make its way to the harbour part of White Harbour, where a Manderly bannerman awaits to take hold of their mounts until Jory and the others return.

  
After handing over the reins of their mounts, the six of them make their way across the bustling docks to the ship meant to carry him to Gulltown, the Storm Dancer. A two-masted galley sailed thanks to its manpower of sixty oars, it has a well-deserved reputation as one of the swiftest galleys to trade in the North. Owned by a Tyroshi called Moreo Tumitis (a green forked-beard veteran of the Narrow Sea who has commanded three ships prior to the Storm Dancer), it seems quite glorious to Jon. An impression which delights the captain as he welcomes them aboard and directs them to their cabins till the drop-off in Gulltown, which due to recent bad weather on the sea would take a day longer than expected.

So as to avoid any difficulties, he explains. With their things aboard and in their rooms and permission received to set sail, Tumitis does so, barking and yelling orders as his men bustle about. Slowly but steadily, the galley begins to move out of the docks and makes its way into the open sea.

 

A day later and leagues away from White Harbour and Jon have been sicker than he has ever been in his entire life including the previous one. Jon wonders what would have happened to Sam when he had sent him to Oldtown during his previous life. He couldn’t imagine it would have been pleasant, what with an ancient Maestar, a grieving wildling mother and a suckling infant to take care for. 

  
The captain only laughs and says it is sea-sickness, a common affliction shared by many Northmen. Not that that does much good for Jon as he puke his stomach contents overboard more than once. To his credit, the captain takes pity on him after the third bout of vomiting and give him a powdered drink to force down.

  
While the urge to vomit is still present, his stomach is far more settled. As a result, he finds himself able to move around and about more, watching the men of the Storm Dancer perform their duties and the good captain making sure they do them right.

  
  
When he isn’t playing games with Jon, that is. As a man of Essos, Captain Tumitis is particularly fond of Cyvasse, a board game that is only just making its way westwards to the Seven Kingdoms. Being more experienced, he soundly trashes Jon time after time, much to the amusement of both his men and Jory’s. He does however take the time to explain some strategies and the purposes of individual pieces, making each defeat slightly less bitter.

  
It comes to an end however, as one of the men on the mast clambers down the riggings with a shout of panic as he runs towards the captain. A frenzied discussion in another language (some version of Valyrian) occurs as both men debate something back and forth (that is joined in by the captain’s first mate), before the captain sighs and gestures to his lieutenant.

With a nod, the first mate steps forward and shouts something near-guttural that peels off half the men from oars and visibly arming themselves with dirks, short-swords and crossbows from seemingly nowhere. As Jory’s men draw blades in response, the captain turns to Jon’s party and utters a single word in Common.

“Ironborn.”  
  
This causes a heavy murmuring to ripple between Jory’s men, before he turns his head back and tells them to shut it. Sparing little breath, he tells one of them to take Jon down to the cabin and to guard him with his life if necessary. The others would stay on-deck to reinforce the sailors, and send for Jon both when the raiders were fought off.  
  
Before he can even protest, the guard grabs Jon under his arm and rushes to the cabin, Jon shared with two of the guards. Once there, he seats him on his bed and tell him to not cause any trouble. Exiting once to confer with Jory, he returns and seats himself on another bed.

  
It is a primarily awkward twenty minutes of relative silence before Jon first hear the din of battle, as shouts and curses of all forms are exchanged, as the clang of steel rebounding on steel and flesh and bone reaches even down to his cabin. His right fist opens and closes as the urge to draw out Dark Sister begins to overwhelm him, even though he understands that at his present age he would at best be underfoot to his own men and the sailors.

  
A tense minute or two pass by as Jon and his guard hear the sounds of combat above, before the guard stands up suddenly. Grabbing his sword from his side on the bed, he makes to leave for the deck. Stopping briefly to caution him to stay in the room (and closing the door behind him to make the demand more emphatic), he leaves. And above, the battle continues.

Jon isn’t a normal child. He had seen battle before, been in battle before, battle with the living and against the dead. And if all those battles have taught him anything, it’s that battles are no place for children. So, he waits. Even as the sounds of battle grow louder and fiercer, even as he clenches his steel dagger tighter and tighter, he waits.

After nearly half an hour, the sounds begin to lessen. Where there were once curses, shouts and the clang of battle, Jon can dimly hear the groans of wounded men, of those unwounded shouting instructions and demands to one another. He hears men clambering about, going into some rooms and not others. And he still doesn’t know if they’re friends or enemies.

Steeling himself for whatever that may come, Jon clenches his dagger tightly in hand and pull the door inwards. As it opens, he steps out with weapon in hand, ready to challenge any that would fight him and find himself face to face with a dark-skinned giant of a man carrying bundles of rags, a bucket filled to the brim with water and vials of foul-smelling liquids and minerals. And for a moment, time slows down to a crawl as they exchange unblinking stares. “Boy,” he grunts as he shifts some of his load towards him, “you will carry this. And follow me.”

Shifting to properly carry the rags and vials as Jon awkwardly sheathe his dagger in its sheath, he stumbles a little. Standing straight, he finds the man looking at him, perhaps evaluating him.

Saying nothing, he turns and makes his out of the lower holds of the ship, expecting Jon to follow, which he does. With his back held up high and perhaps a little indignation, but he does. Sidestepping all manner of liquids, refuse, and other miscellaneous bits and pieces, Jon follows the giant steadily to the deck of the ship as the sounds of wounded men, shouting and arguing grows louder.

What he sees there nearly has him retching.

Over two dozen crewmen of the Storm Dancer are laid flat across multiple surfaces of the deck, bleeding and injured. Some are struggling to hold in their guts, others are bleeding from the head and dazed, and then there are those missing arm or foot, staring at their stumps as if they can scarcely believe it.

And then there’s those dead, whose smell reaches him even as he just exits the door, who are covered in flies and blood and bile and all else…

“Be helpful,” the dark man grunts as he walks off to one of the wounded men “Or not.”  
  
Jon moves quietly and without complaint. He moves from bedside to beside of each injured man, offering drink, washing blood, helping to hold them down as triage is instigated. He goes to those dead and say soft-spoken prayers over them, sit with those feverish and near death and feed them milk of the poppy to ease their sufferings as they mutter of lost loves and failed dreams and beloved families.

More than one man thinks him his own son and calls out to Jon in their eastern tongues, bidding him to stay with them as they pass into the hands of the gods. Hours later, as those dying are now dead and silent and those injured are taken below to rest, he is disturbed from his reverie by a hand on his shoulder.

Turning, he sees a clearly injured Jory giving him a slight, reassuring smile, even though one can see the sadness and restrained anger in his eyes. Thinking back, Jon doesn’t recall sitting with him or helping him in anyway. He must have been moving about, just like Jon.

  
“Go down below deck, Jon. Try and get some sleep. We’ll be stopping in the Fingers in a few hours to bury their men and ours. I’ll look in on you then, see if you want to come on ashore.”

As the Storm Dancer lands on the littlest of the Fingers of the Vale, Jon can’t help but think tis a sad, sorry land to bury brave men, proud men in. True to his word, Jory woke him up and Jon chose to go. He had seen brave men die time and again, and he cannot bear to ignore them, to simply sidestep them.

He stands for the burials and even help shovel some of the dirt in. A local septon says words, and one of the more religious sailors says what they can. The giant he met hours before also stands to speak, and Jon learns his name is Meren, a native of Myr.

He speaks plainly but glowingly of his fallen colleagues, and says kind words of those under Jory’s command. As he finishes, he kneels and takes a small amount of the dirt, rubbing it in his palms and his face before offering it to the man next to him. He does the same, and passes it on to the man after him. On and on it goes until it reaches Jon.

  
After it passes through all, Meren merely nods to Jon and says one word “Remember.”  
  
  
A day after the attack at sea, Jon finally make it to Gulltown, watching their arrival on deck alongside Jory and his belongings as the sailors prepare the ship for docking and anchoring.

Four of his guardsmen had died during the battle, the one assigned to guard him dying as he arrived on death to an errant thrown axe. That revelation gives a dour end to the conversation as the docking and anchoring is finished, and the captain invites them to set ashore.

Gulltown is a fairly busy place. Much like White Harbour (where Jon admittedly did not spend as much time as he could have), it is a large, sprawling population centre that holds hundreds of thousands of people, capable of fitting a few dozen Winterfell within its borders without concern.

The economic heart of the Vale of Arryn and harbour to its fleet, there are may be 3-4 cities in Westeros that can match it. And a regular and profitable stop for Captain Tumitis it seems, judging by the amount of cargo being withdrawn from the ship’s holds onto the dock for the inspection of waiting harbourmasters.

Jon and Jory meet the good captain on solid land, where he shakes hands with both and teasingly admits that he will not miss seeing either of them and mock-yells as to leave “his” docks.

Subsequently they move away from the docks and into the city, where they’ll meet a representative of Ser Brynden until he himself can arrive (something about raids across the whole of the Vale from the Mountains Clans).

  
Passing through the busy crowds of the docks, Jon spot Ser Brynden’s banner on a coat of arms (remembered from his readings and lessons with Maester Luwin) and gesture to Jory, who nods and leads the party towards there as he pushes through the crowds.

Arriving in somewhat good order, there stands a short man of slender build surrounded by several obvious house servants and a pair of armed guards. With grey-green eyes and a small point beard on his chin, Jon can’t help but be reminded a bit of the representatives of the Iron Bank he’d received as the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

“Greetings young master Snow,” he says with a friendly smile “My name is Petyr Baelish, master of customs here in Gulltown. Ser Brynden asked that I host you until he resolve some matter of raids by Mountain tribesmen south of Gulltown. I’ve already received a raven detailing the situation, and he should be arriving within a day or two. Until then, I’m afraid I will have to suffice.”


	19. A Mockingbird and the Blackfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon travels through the Vale.

The first night spent by Jon in Lord Baelish’s household is rather awkward. While Jory rested in a bedroom after being looked at by a local healer, Jon had a small two-person supper with Lord Baelish as they talk, largely about Ser Brynden Tully (a father-figure to Lord Baelish in his youth), and a somewhat surprising revelation that he was a childhood friend of Lady Stark. He shared with Jon a story or two about their shared youth and eagerly asked after her. He didn’t seem that pleased to hear that she’d given birth to 4 kids in a span of less than a decade and asks whether she is happy in Winterfell.

Jon's hesitant affirmative receives a nod and a slight smile as he attempts to broach discussion of the matter of the Ironborn raid on the Storm Dancer, only to be told of Jon's presence being largely below deck. Undeterred, he then suggests that Jon should go out into the city next day to take in the sights before Ser Brynden arrives to claim him, apologetically explaining that his work keeps him busy.

With supper finished, the servants came in to clear the table as one of them asks to take Jon to his room, one next to Jory. As he stood up to leave he noticed that one of the servants whispered something in Lord Baelish’s ear, to which he nodded hastily in response.

Lord Baelish stood up and left through one of the doors of the dining room. Escorted to his bedroom, the servant blows out the candle in the room and bids Jon a good night’s sleep. Getting into bed, Jon think back to the attack on the Storm Dancer and the funeral afterwards.

He and Jory had shared in the ritual of dirt-covering that Meren had instigated amongst the men of the ship, though he wasn't quite sure why he had or what it signified. When the burials were finished, he'd gone to the giant to ask him those questions. His answers had been quite interesting.

“We are men of the sea,” he grunts as he strides in direction of the ship, as Jon struggle to keep pace alongside him “always sailing, always traveling. Sailors of Myr, we often bury our fallen at sea, wrapped in cloth and thrown overboard as if waste or offal. Or burned to ashes and spread across the winds. Either way, they are with us in memory and body. But when you bury a man on land, to be made a feast for worms and maggots… what is there to remember him by? To carry his memories forward with you? We take the dirt, press it upon ourselves to remember. How they lived… and how they died. Remember the dead, boy. Do not deny them that. Or you will find yourself denied in turn.”

As Jon was reflecting on his words, he heard a few people moving about the house. Past his door to other rooms, or down stairs. However, tired from the long journey he'd endured since leaving Winterfell, he crawled under the sheets and fell asleep.

\----  
Waking up feeling refreshed and ready for anything, Jon quickly washed himself of a night’s sweat and dressed, making his way down to the first floor. There, he saw a quiet Jory enjoying a large breakfast, seated next to one of the guards that Jon had seen with Lord Baelish yesterday at the harbour. The two were discussing something quietly as Jon made his way to the table, and Jory gave him a small smile as he seated himself.

He pushed a plate of sausages in Jon's direction and told him to eat up if he wanted to get an early start on his day-trip around the city, gesturing to the guard next to him and told him that he’s been ordered by Lord Baelish to remain at their side for the remainder of the day, even though he didn't look like much. Armed with a dagger and a short-sword, he seems like a typical merchant guard, one more used to brawling than proper combat and battles.

After a few moments of quiet thinking, Jon decided that they should go into the city and go around the markets. Jory merely nods and pushes some of the plates of food closer towards Jon, saying that knowing him, the three of them would probably be wandering around the city until midnight and beyond.

Jory introduces the guard assigned by Lord Baelish as Red Ben, so named for his reddish cheeks, reddish hair and reddish beard. If there is ever a man who deserved the moniker of “Red”, it's him. Somewhat portly and seemingly ill-suited in such a respectable home, he’d definitely be out of place amongst the guards of Winterfell.

Still, being a polite and charming young lad, Jon gave him a big smile and shook his hand before finishing his breakfast. After which Jory asked him to get whatever he need from upstairs and meet them outside. Rushing past one of the house maids, Jon grabbed his bag of coin and made his way to the guards.

As Jon stood in place and attempted to tie his coin bag to his belt (before reluctantly handing it over to Jory for him to keep an eye on), he hears Red Ben discussing the best places to go in the city. According to him, the harbor districts they landed in yesterday are home to thriving seedy markets and warehouse based businesses, some of whom are above-the-board with the Gulltown harbor & custom officials and some not.

While what one can find varies greatly from vendor to vendor (and their trustworthiness somewhat suspect), there’s always something to be bought and a bargain to be struck.

The inner districts of Gulltown are home to the city’s “proper” residents and it’s ruling house the Graftons (who Jon distantly recall as being Targaryen loyalists during Robert’s Rebellion) and as such feature more “inflated” prices that are stricter negotiation-wise, though the quality is of course of a higher general standard.

Finally, there are the gate districts of Gulltown, those areas both inside the walls and outside it that are the least “entertaining” part of Gulltown, being subject to most of the Mountains of Moon tribal attacks externally and the still-victims of the early battles of the Rebellion.

There’s not much in there that can’t be found in either the harbor or inner districts, but that is most likely where Ser Brynden would be coming through to take charge of Jon tomorrow.

He tells Jory and Red Ben that he would like to go to the Harbor Districts and see what Gulltown’s portside has to offer, a fact that gets Red Ben’s laughing as he mumbles something to Jory about whores and cheeks, which gets a smile out of Jon's sole remaining guardsman.

As Lord Baelish’s home is located nearer to the harbor districts than the inner, wealthier districts, they make quick-time to the nearest section of the harbor districts, home to offices and barracks for the southern third of it.

Clearly the most “lawful” place in this den of chaos, it’s strikes Jon that Red Ben chose this area first as an attempt at a peaceful day. Passing through the streets, they hear street vendors hawking goods from their small stands, all manner of things from food to drink to trinkets and potions to counter all ailments.

Red Ben keeps them from getting stalled by local beggars and stumbling would-be-pickpockets as they make their way to what he promises to be “the best of the district”.

Arriving to a massive stone warehouse where men are busy offloading and carrying in crates and goods, Red Ben explains to them that this is one of Lord Baelish’s side-businesses. Being a custom official of the harbors and thus in contact with many merchants of both Essos and Westeros, he has known many of them to go bankrupt or close shop due to piracy, dwindling profits or other such unfortunate circumstances.

When such incidents occur, he usually lifts them from the difficulties of debtor prisons and binding contracts with his own accumulated wealth, in exchange for what remaining goods and deeds they maintain.

Some he sells on to other merchants (mostly being lands abroad and miscellanea critical for the broaching of trade agreements and deals in Essos) and the rest he makes available at auctions and exclusive looks for local notables looking through wares of exotic and sometimes rare materials for surprising finds.

Greeting one of the guards watching the offloading and introducing Jon as a guest of Lord Baelish, he gains entrance to the warehouse and with an overly exaggerated but friendly wave of his hand, “bids his lordship to take view of the goods”.

Wandering between crates only just being unpacked for their contents to be shifted to various tables and stalls and lengthy tables watched over by guardsmen, Jon gets a familiar feeling that there is something here, something he's specifically meant to take … no something that belongs to him.

Walking back and forth, his head turning left and right to take in all the glorious wares and materials before him, he suddenly stop before a stall near one of the further corners of the warehouse, watched over by one seated guard.

The stall is small and dusty, and Jon would wager that not much importance or care was laid to them considering how red-eyed the guard seems, how sleepy he looks. Looking at the stall, he can hazard a guess as to why.

A collection of dusty books, chipped pottery and ancient looking scabbered-swords are scattered across, each looking as old as time itself. Yet they call to him.

Reaching across and looking as the guard gets up in surprise at his presence (only to calm down once Jory and Red Ben make their way to him and introduce Jon indirectly), Jon reaches across and grab the hilt of one sword, a bastard sword that is taller than him.

A red jewel is the most prominent feature on the handle, though one can make out two beasts of some sort on the blackened guard (burnt in some fire, perhaps?) He frowns, feeling the poor condition of the leather wrapped around the hilt on his palm and tug it gently. The sword does not pull out, not even a bit.

“It’s no use boy,” says the guard “This stall is for all the useless things Lord Baelish’s crates turn up. Soggy books or ones with ink that’s faded here and there or written in unknown languages, chipped pottery, broken necklaces, and swords that won’t come out of their scabbards. I’d suggest you go look for a weapon somewhere else.”

Jory puts his hand forward and asks for it, and almost reluctantly Jon do so. He gives it a go, stumbling back a step as he tries to unsheathe it from its metal scabbard. Red Ben tries next and fails, before handing it back to Jon and advise him to listen to the guard, a small man called Tom.

Jon refuse, and ask for the price. A hesitant Tom looks to Ben, and the two walk off for a moment to speak before coming back. Tom looks Jon square in the eye and asks him for a silver stag. Jory looks to protest (knowing he does have that money) as Red Ben tries to explain something to him about scaring him off.

Without even blinking or a flicker of hesitation, Jon gave Tom the price requested and look to a cringing Red Ben and a furious Jory and call them as witnesses to this agreement. After a few moments of strangled growls from Jory, he sighs and agrees with Red Ben quickly following afterwards. Tom sighs as he accepts the money and goes off to inform the book-keepers of the sale.

Incredibly satisfied with his purchase (though precisely why he cannot say), Jon tells Red Ben and Jory that he has seen and bought all that he wanted to here in Lord Baelish’s warehouse, and wish to see the rest of the harbor districts. He pretends to ignore both men’s sighs of relief and move briskly to leave first, with both men quickly making their way after him. As they exit the warehouse and wait for them to catch up, Jon wonders what part of the harbor they should explore next.

As they walk through the streets of the southern district with Jory & Red Ben in tow, Jon tries to notice and take in as much as he can. The smells, the sounds, the accents, the voices... People hawking trinkets and goods of all sorts & natures. A man promising his potions would cure any ailment from "pox" to "consumption".

A women shouting from a balcony towards men crossing the streets, beckoning them within. The shout she gives to a truly reddening Red Ben indicates that the two are familiar, as does the cheeky blown kiss she sends him before returning within the building. A drunk stumbles out of a tavern at high noon and nearly falls on Jon (only to be grabbed and held upright by Jory), a fact that repeats itself only twice in every two hours.

When asked, Ben only states that many ships dock for a day only before heading out again, thus forcing it's crews to get their drinking and "whenching" done as quickly as possible. On and on do these moments go, slipping past with little hold on his memory or attention...

Seeing Jon's disinterest grow during the hours, Ben whispers something to Jory, who after a moment's hesitation agrees. Clasping his hand on Jon’s shoulder to stop him, Ben off-handedly asks whether Jon is having  a good time to which Jon noncommittally nods.  A repeat of the question from Jory gets him much the same as the three of them exit the alley into the main street.

It’s not far past noon, yet Jon has already bought a mysterious sword and has seen plenty of what a city such as Gulltown has to offer. 

Having wandered for quite some time, Jon's feeling a little on edge, a little tired and in need of relaxation. He's seen as much of the city as he wished to, and they might as well return to Lord Baelish’s home and recuperate and simply wait for Ser Brynden’s arrival tomorrow.

He says as much to a relieved Jory and Red Ben, who escort him back with as much dignified haste as possible. In less than half an hour, they’re back in the home and just in time for a light lunch prepared by some of the staff for some of the staff.

When asked about, they are informed that Lord Baelish was still at the harbor district, dealing with some nobleman complaining about something or another regarding his private auction warehouse and some problem concerning some of the harbor guards.

Jon gives a shrug at that before returning to his meal, occasionally chatting with Jory or Red Ben or one of the house staff about one thing or another.

After the light lunch, Jon found himself largely on his own as the staff move around the house cleaning up and performing other tasks, while Jory, Red Ben and a few other guards sit themselves in the entrance hall with jugs of ale and cool water around them as they swap stories. Seeing the preoccupied Jon quietly slip away to his room with his purchase in hand. Carefully and noiselessly closing the door to his accommodations behind him, he locks the door. He places his sword on his bed, and drag a stool from the corner of the room to seat himself before it.

It looks like a wreck. The red jewel in the hilt looks valuable to be sure, and the dragon embossed guard is pretty cool, but the metal scabbard is an ugly mess, with the decorations on it faded and twisted.

Almost like… it had partially melted and then cooled down? Grabbing the hilt and pulling the sword towards himself, he see how the metal around the scabbard connects directly into the hilt, with little beads of the metal dotting the scabbard itself. Peering down the guard at the blade and the scabbard, he sees much the same.

The metal of the scabbard must have belted through the inner sheathing and to the blade itself. No wonder they couldn’t open it. They’d have to an extremely talented blacksmith work the scabbard without damaging the sword itself, and there wouldn’t be much point doing that for most swords.

But this isn’t most swords, is it? He can’t explain it, but there’s something about this sword, another of its kind that speaks to Jon quite like Dark Sister. He doesn’t know what it’s saying, but it’s speaking to him all the same.

Looking outside the window to the street, Jon sees how dark it truly is, how late it is. Beyond tired from his daytime excursions, Jon practically throws himself onto the bed for a long, long time and fall asleep immediately. His dreams are empty dreams, of Winterfell and his family, and his sleep is deep and uneventful. The night darkens and lightens into day as he continues to sleep, with the sun climbing higher to the sky before Jory comes to wake him up.

“Jon,” he says with a whisper before raising his voice “Jon, you need to wake up. Ser Brynden is in the city. He’s got some business with the local lord, but he’ll be here in half an hour to join us and Lord Baelish for a light lunch.”

Somehow that is all that is required to get him up and out of bed, as he immediately rush around and move to prepare frantically. After a few seconds, he calms down and breathe before beginning a new. After all, Ser Brynden is going to be responsible for him for gods know how many years. A good first impression is going to count for a lot. Washing and dressing himself and closing up what there were of his belongings for Lord Baelish’s servants to bring downstairs, he quickly made his way down to the small dining hall where Lord Baelish and Jory await. As he arrived, he heard an unfamiliar hoarse and smokey voice discussing something with Lord Baelish, something that draws a polite laugh from him. Dread building, Jon walks into the room to find a grey-haired, bushy-browed man seated at Lord Baelish’s side biting into a pear. Their eyes meet across the room, and Jon feel the intensity of his gaze on him. He is certain that this man is Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish of Riverrun.

“Jon, I take it? Have a seat boy, before the food gets cold. We've got a long ride to the Eyrie, and I don't think we'll be eating as well as this until we get there."

Jon seats himself at the table, across from Ser Brynden and at Lord Baelish's side. At a nod from him, he looks to the table and grab from a few plates to fill up his own as talking begins anew. As it does, it strikes Jon that this is an ideal chance to get the measure of his future teacher and host.

As the lunch continues, discussion between Jon, Lord Baelish and Ser Brynden start and end in bursts, interspersed between periods of eating or drinking. Jon largely elect to listen rather than talk, acting as polite and as respectful as possible as he tries to get a feel for both his temporary host and his future mentor. He notices that the relationship between the two men, one of warmth and friendliness and soon explained as Ser Brynden explains that Petyr was a ward of his brother, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun. A few stories about Petyr’s childhood with the Tully children (including Lady Stark) are shared; often starting with some mischievous plan concocted by Lord Baelish and culminating in the children running to Ser Brynden after everything went horribly wrong (“remember that prank you played on Lord Darry that time he came to visit? By the Seven Hoster couldn’t stand to look at any of you for weeks after!”).

After that discussion moves to Jon at Ser Brynden’s direction as he asks him about himself. About his interests, about his friends’ back home, a bit about news of Lady Stark and her children, and about his current opinion of the Vale.

After Jon share, he gets a judging nod, and is explained what is expected from him these next few years as a page. As the Eyrie is largely empty of most traditional servants (masters, septons, etc.) due to their serving Lord Arryn down in King’s Landing, Ser Brynden will take over the bulk over Jon’s education as well as his training. He can expect to be learning horsemanship, archery, how to care for weapons and armor, teaching of history (both of the Vale and Westeros as a whole), athletics and lessons on chivalry and knighthood. Due to his position as the Knight of the Bloody Gate, he will often be drawn away to attend to some small matter or another on behalf of Lord Arryn or his High Steward Nestor Royce. Thus, Jon will be expected to keep up with his studies during these times or will accompany him to gain a greater understanding of the Vale or it’s nobility. He also tells Jon somewhat cautiously that he expects him to be on his best behaviour at such affairs, as Jon will be representing Ser Brynden and any problems will reflect on him as well as Jon.

The lunch largely over at this time, Lord Baelish calls for the servants to bring Jon’s belongings down from his room and load them onto the cart meant to accompany them. When one of the servants hesitantly asks as to whether or not to place Jon’s mystery sword with the cart, the sword in his hands and presented almost hesitantly to the room.

“So this is the ‘piece of scrap’ my men oversold you?” he says with an examining look “I may have to have a word with them concerning overcharging my guests so. I love a good deal as well as any man, but I can’t abide robbing an innocent boy. Jon, would you accept your money back in exchange for the sword. Or at least part of it, if you intend to keep it? Ben did say you were most stubborn about returning it.” Jon politely refuses stating he had made a conscious decision regarding the Sword and is unlikely to change it.

  
With that matter settled and his belongings on the cart, they all make to exist the house and Jon, Ser Brynden and his guards to mount their horses to leave the city.

“Thank you Lord Baelish,” Jon says politely as he stands with him at the door of his house “for your generous hospitality and for Red Ben’s company.”

“It was a trifling matter,” says the harbourmaster with a very friendly smile “and it’s not like I won’t be expecting the same on a visit to the Eyrie, some day! Hopefully my trip will be less remarkable than yours!”

“Aye,” says Ser Brynden with a grunt “I’d heard of that on my arrival. I’ll have to have a word with Lord Grafton about his patrols if the Ironborn are getting brave enough to attack the eastern coastlines.”

“Do what you feel is best Ser Brynden,” says Lord Baelish with a small bow “You are after all, the Knight of the Bloody Gate.”

As the entire party mounts up and makes their way through the city to the western gates, Jon notice Ser Brynden holding a map in his right hand as his left holds the horse’s bridle. He must be deciding the path back to the Eyrie.

Without a moment’s pause, Ser Brynden folds up the map and places it within a pouch on his horse’s side, before raising his voice for his men’s sake:

“We’ll go south, to Wickenden and House Waxely. Hug to the coast as much as we can to avoid getting caught up in any tribe raids, and then travel in a leaning line until we get onto the Kingsroad and to the Bloody Gate. Donnel will have to manage until we get back there.”

And so they travel, leaving Gulltown almost quietly through one of its western gates, making their way southwards towards Wickenden as Ser Brynden directed. No trouble comes their way at all and the ride is simple and easy. Jon and Ser Brynden are often chatting during this trip about Winterfell and Lady Stark and his trueborn siblings, his interests in old stories and tales (which draws a laugh from him as he tells Jon to spend some time in the Eyrie’s small library to see the history of the Vale), swords (he’s rather curious about Jon’s sword), the weather (mostly concerning the coldness of the Eyrie, even in summer) and so on and so forth.

Their arrival to and departure from Wickenden occur with little incident as well, and as they pass the most southern parts of the Vale and begin their ascent to the Bloody Gate on the Kingsroad Jon can’t help but wonder if there was really such a problem with tribesmen that Ser Brynden had to delay his arrival. When he say as much to him, he gives a rough laugh, telling Jon that this trip was a quiet one compared to most.  
  
“Won’t be a day when the tribes don’t try taking a caravan or kill a commoner whose in the woods or by the foot of the mountains. You’ll get plenty of experience fighting them, don’t you worry.”

Ultimately such concerns are moot as they make their way into the Bloody Gate (where Jon is introduced to Ser Brynden’s second-in-command, a Ser Donnel Waynewood who greets them with friendliness and respect upon introductions) and then through the Gates of the Moon to the foot of the Giant’s Lance, the great mountain peak that hosts the Eyrie at it’s top. Jon’s belongings are taken off the cart and separated and placed onto a collection of mules that are directed upwards on the mountain by their handlers, and he follow suit on a small yet hardy mule. After some time climbing the awesome mountain sides, he finally make it to the Eyrie.

“Welcome to the Eyrie, Jon.”


	20. A Wolf in the Vale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon completes the first year of his fostering in Vale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 292 AC

It’s been a year since Jon first arrived to the Eyrie, and what a year it’s been. Much to his surprise, the seat of House Arryn, the nucleus of power within the Vale, the home of the Hand of the King is pretty small. Not to say that in a bad way, but Winterfell, White Harbor, even Gulltown are of greater sizes, of greater grandeur. All of them outstrip it in life as well. More than a few days have seen him looking around the seven towers that make up the Eyrie’s final fortifications, looking into every nook and cranny he could possibly find. The seven towers, named for the Seven, these southern gods. He knows that the Lady Stark worships them, as does her uncle Ser Brynden and most of the Vale. It is apparently an important facet of knighthood that a knight knows and upholds the precepts of the Seven, which to Jon meant at least an hour a day with Ser Brynden discussing and explaining the Faith to him (with several other hours concerning the basics of weapons and armor maintenance and Jon simply doing it as a chore). Discussions primarily concern the Warrior and the Father and their importance to a knight, but often discussion veer to the Maiden or the Mother, and the expectations of the knight to safeguard the innocent and protect the helpless. Ser Brynden occasionally admits to Jon that most knights do not keep to these vows and beliefs, and focusing more on the baser, martial concerns such as swordsmanship and jousting. But a good knight, a true knight does not take his vows lightly. He upholds them to the best of his ability, regardless of the danger. Else he find himself in poor stead come his time with the Stranger.  
  
And it was the Stranger whom Jon found himself spending some time with, or rather the Stranger’s Tower, the seventh tower of the Eyrie and of the seat of House Arryn. He came across it during his free time, exploring the Eyrie as he was, looking for long forgotten hiding places and mysterious doors and all sorts of things. While not mysterious in and of itself, its dusty Wierwood door evoked memories of Winterfell, of the Godswood, and of the Old Gods, His gods. He slipped through it as quietly as he could, only to find himself frozen, for in this tower was the crypts of the lords and heirs of House Arryn, those of generations that have come and gone. For a moment, then two, then for more he stood there unmoving. And then as quietly, as composedly, as quickly as he could he fled the tower, making his way back to his quarters. Suffice to say he did not sleep well that night. 

That night Jon had a dream which though recurring in his previous life hasn't visited him in last eight odd years of his life. He finds himself walking down a long empty hall. His voice echoes all around, but no one answers, so he walks faster, opening doors, shouting names. He doesn’t even know who he is looking for but the castle is empty as always. Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of bones. Frightened he starts to run, throwing open doors, climbing the tower three steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then he stands in front of the door to the crypts. It’s black inside, and he can see the steps spiralling down. Somehow he knows that he has to go down there, but he doesn’t want to. He is afraid of what might be waiting for him. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it’s not them he is afraid of. He screams that he is not a Stark, that this isn’t his place, but it’s no good, he has to go anyway, so he starts down, feeling the walls as he descends, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until he wants to scream, and then he wakes up, his skin cold and clammy, shivering in the darkness of his room.

After the discovery of the Stranger’s Tower and then the Sky Cell, his explorations largely ceased, not only because of his previous discoveries, but also because time spent with others, such as his mentor and master Ser Brynden (who had started to warm up to him more), as well as Mya Stone (a bastard of King Robert Baratheon he soon discovered) and Myranda Royce (daughter to High Steward Nestor Royce).

While older than Jon by some three odd years and both girls besides, they are pretty much the only other children around available. At times, Jon cannot help but think that both are of an age with what would have been her own true sibling, Rhaenys. Spending time with the girls ease his homesickness. They largely spend their time causing mischief to the denizens of the Eyrie, as Myranda have an especially devilish wit about her while Mya merely enjoys watching the mayhem in question. More than once or twice the mayhem brings Jon before Ser Brynden, who can only shake his head in resignation and proclaim that the three of them are his brother’s children born anew. Overall, Jon managed to adjust relatively quickly to the Eyrie, even though he deeply missed his friends and family back in Winterfell.

He writes often to Winterfell. To father, Robb, Sam, Sansa, Arya and Bran, sometimes to Lady Catelyn as well. He still discusses various plans with his father, who recently informed him about the first batch of glass shipments being distributed throughout the North. The repair works at Moat Cailin are coming along nicely and it seems that Ser Wendel, now Lord Wendel has taken up residence at the newly furbished castle along with his already pregnant wife. 

It seems that, Lord Reed and his bannermen have pulled a miracle in the Neck. During one of his visits, his father witnessed the massive efforts undertaken by the crannogmen. They have cleared extensive area on both sides of the existing causeway by cutting and burning away most of the vegetative growth. Then by using elongated rakes and hoes they have dragged copious amount of mud, twigs and various other sediments and dumped them onto the existing causeway, which is then levelled using earth rammers. Thereafter, small stones and pebbles whatever materials they could scavenge from within and around their surroundings, were laid upon the levelled patch and the process is repeated again. Lord Howland had insisted that a road made through mud alone would disintegrate quickly if massive traffic is moved through it and to ensure structural integrity of the road they needed stronger materials such as rocks. Hence, to make up for the lack of good quality rocks in the Neck they had to bring in rocks from quarries lying near Barrowlands, which are then broken into smaller fragments and laid upon the road.

Massive deforestation and excessive digging for extraction of soil from the nearby swamps had led to creation of lakes on both sides of the causeway, which again the Crannogman insisted would serve as an excellent breeding ground for fresh water fishes. During his stay at Greywater Watch, Ned was feasted on the freshly killed lizard lion soup. He stated that the taste was similar to that of a fish. Having cleared substantial areas on both sides of the causeway, his father stated that the place was literally run over by the creatures as their hiding places had been drastically reduced. However, Howland claimed that it would be a good source of meat. Lizard lion meat has a mild flavour and a firm texture. Though it essentially tastes like chicken, it has mildly fishy flavour, and is often chewy, depending on preparation. Not to mention the skin of a fully grown Lizard Lion is much tougher than boiled leather armour used by most northerners and hence, can be used for soldiers as well. Despite all this, this particular stretch of Kingsroad is still not at par with the stretches north and south of it, but it can now support continuous to and fro traffic without the need for anyone to give way for another.

In another news Galbart Glover has brought home his new wife Lady Tyta Frey and started expansion works at Deepwood Motte, with a medium sized glass garden akin to the one they have at Winterfell occupying substantial space near it's courtyard. The resident Maestar is of the opinion that the glass house can produce sufficient food grains even during Winters that can sustain the entire population within the castle and then some. Added to it the digging of couple of deep wells, now Deepwood would be able to withstand any siege once it's walls are fully raised.

Lord Wyman has, after extensive discussions with the small council and due permission from Lord Stark has initiated a plan of providing employment to the poorest of poor and destitute of kings landing at the refurbished Moat Cailin. The Master of Law being the only High Lord from North who follows the Faith of the Seven was able to convince the High Septon in sponsoring the said project who has agreed to invest substantial amount of money that too without interest. Already people have started flocking to the Moat, who are being transported from the capital via ships to White Harbour and then via a revamped road towards the Moat. After a recent visit to the stronghold, his father had been profuse in his praise for the new lord of the Moat. A village has already come up in the vicinity of the Moat, overlooking the road to White harbour and it has all the makings of growing into a town very soon.

Jon felt that attending to his duties as a page to Ser Brynden wasn’t easy as most of the time he spent at the Eyrie while Ser Brynden, true to his title was stationed at the Bloody Gate. His education has so far been a largely theoretical in nature, with long discussions with Ser Brynden on a daily basis being the primary feature. While he quite preferred bouts of hunting and horsemanship they did thrice a week, his mentor felt it was equally important that he understood the intellectual side of it, usually starting a bout of discussions with a posed question such as, “A knight’s loyalty is three-fold: to his lord, to his family, and to the kingdom. Which supersedes?”, to which Jon would definitively state his belief that a knight's loyalty should be to the kingdom as a whole. He further explained that a knight's duty was to the realm and its people, before the wishes of his lord (even the king), the wishes of his own family or anyone else. A knight safeguards the innocent and protects the helpless, or he is no true knight. He stands for what is right and just, even at personal cost and harm. He simply is and Ser Brynden would nod and say little, choosing to move onto reading or writing or some other educational endeavour instead of offering him a “correct” answer. Having completed his education in Winterfell itself, Jon mostly spent his time reading about Targaryen kings and their history of civil conflicts, including the Dance of Dragons and the Blackfyre Rebellion, which Ser Brynden himself had a part in ending.  
“Aye, I was there. Fought alongside the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy all the way till the very end. ‘Course, he wasn’t the Lord Commander then…”

  
It’s interesting, to say the least. Learning about his true paternal family has revealed quite a lot, even if the revelations were not always so pleasant. The Blackfyre Rebellion is especially evocative, as the civil war then had been between brothers, one bastard-born like himself and the other nobly born. To think that brothers could fight each other to such a degree, he says as much to Ser Brynden, who gives Jon a sad smile and tells that not many brothers are as close as him and Robb. He tries to cheer Jon up shortly afterwards, when he begins a lengthy lesson on a listing of Valyrian swords in Westeros, starting with Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark and ending with Blackfyre and Darksister, the bastard sword and longsword of House Targaryen, lost to them during the Blackfyre Rebellions as the former had been taken to Essos upon the rebel claimants’ first defeat, and the latter disappearing decades later ( _‘ending up with me’_ ).

  
It is that discussion of Blackfyre that draws his interest. The discussions included artistic portrayals, descriptions, and occasionally mockery of long-winded lines in old songs. All of which coincided almost eerily with what Jon could make out of his mysterious, damaged sword. The one he had bought at Lord Baelish’s warehouse, the one he had felt drawn to.

  
For months after, he wondered how he would free the sword from it’s predicament. He had considered fire, but damaging the sword was always a risk. But Valyrian steel was more durable and sharper than anything in the world. If anything could take fire and stay unscathed, it would be Blackfyre. There are other dangers of course. Accidentally burning a hole through the walls, or killing someone on the other end of those walls. Eventually, he decided it wasn’t worth the risk and keeping Darksister itself could bring unwanted attention upon himself, let alone carrying two Valyrian steel swords, that too connected to the paternal side of his heritage.

  
In the days that follow, Jon kept sending letters to Winterfell, filled with more detail and individually addressed with stories of his adventures and exploits to his siblings and Sam and dutiful letters to Lord & Lady Stark. His letters to Lady Stark in particular sees a polite, almost friendly response as she notes that she and her siblings were just as troublesome for Ser Brynden. Robb writes on behalf of Sansa, Arya and Bran, letting him know that pretty much everything is as it was when he left, with the difference being that much like Jon with Ser Brynden, Robb and Sam were learning under Rodrik Cassel, with father doing his part as well. Robb tells that Sam has opened up a lot more and has grown in his interactions with even strangers, and adds a chastisement by saying that a visit back wouldn’t be amiss.

Thankfully, Jon was distracted from giving an immediate ink-on-parchment response by Mya and Myranda, who dragged him away for a failed attempt to nick some of the kitchen’s desserts for the night. The cooks didn’t mind so much however, and let them have a few each before kicking them out. Munching happily on sweetrolls and other confections, the three of them didn’t even notice when they bumped into Myranda’s brother Albar, who gives them a tongue-lashing about bothering the cooks as they prepare the food, before letting them go on their way sans a sweet roll each.

Jon overheard Ser Brynden and Nestor Royce discussing the continued presence of pirate ships across the Vale’s coastlines. While largely decreased in recent months thanks to Lord Grafton’s more active patrolling, it remains a matter of concern, particularly with the tribes acting out again.

It's been a long year, his first in the lands of the Vale, under the protection of House Arryn and the tutelage of Ser Brynden Tully. While not as cold as the North nor as harsh in its surrounding, the uncompromising mountainous landscape surrounding the Eyrie has had that effect, warping his perception of time almost.

The rest of his time besides this was spent on what had become routine by now: running around and getting into trouble with Mya and Myranda, page lessons with Ser Brynden that largely consisted of him shining and caring for armour coupled with horsemanship & archery lessons, and time spent scouring the small library of the Eyrie. Though Jon tries to conceal his prowess in the tasks assigned to him by his mentor his brilliance continues to dazzle everyone around.


	21. A wedding at Riverrun

The first moon of the year has gone by rather quickly, certainly quicker than the last. Jon has now become accustomed to his new home, knowing as much of it as he would of Winterfell (though that is part to do with the smaller size of the Eyrie). Still, he missed Winterfell somewhat and after petitioning Ser Brynden and sending a letter back home, he has planned for a few weeks’ time spent there in the latter months of the year. Ser Brynden has already waived off joining him, as he feels that matters in the Vale require his direct attention. Still, he has promised to send gifts and letter with Jon for Lady Stark and his nephews and nieces. Jon muses how they will react on seeing him for the first time in years. While busy with his archery and horsemanship under Ser Brynden, the rest of his free time thus far has been divided equally between the escapades of Mya and Myranda around the Eyrie (irritating her brother Albar on more than one occasion) and sneaking out at night to practice his sword arm at the straw dummies near the stables, leaving him little rest or down-time. 

However, an invitation is received from Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun, as his only son and heir Ser Edmure Tully is getting married to Lady Asha Greyjoy of Pyke. As lady Asha is presently a ward of Lady Catelyn Stark at Winterfell, it is expected that the entirety of his family will gather at Riverrun save his father for there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. In addition to them, Theon Greyjoy will also be coming to attend the impending nuptials of his sole surviving sibling.

Despite his duties Ser Brynden decide to visit his estranged brother, if only to be party to his nephew’s wedding. He assembles a strong escort party as the High Road is wild and dangerous, climbing through rocky foothills and thick forests in the Mountains of the Moon, past high passes and deep chasms. Travelers on the road are often attacked by the mountain clans or shadowcats. It is often closed by snow and in parts it is just a stony track. Jon accompanies the party, excited to be able to visit his family after almost a year. It took them some time traversing the High Road, for the mountain clans have grown bolder in recent times. However, they rode in the company of seasoned knights and men at arms which served as a deterrent. When they arrived at Riverrun, the Stark party was still some days away and so Jon was exposed to the hospitality of Riverrun.

Riverrun, the ancestral castle of House Tully is situated in the western Riverlands, at the confluence of the Tumblestone and Red Fork rivers. It is a strong three-sided castle, although not especially large. The castle is bordered on the north by the Tumblestone and on the south by the Red Fork, while on the west a third side faces a massive man-made ditch. In time of danger the sluice gates can be opened to fill a wide moat and leave the castle surrounded on all three sides by water, turning Riverrun into an island and leaving it practically unassailable. The castle has sandstone walls which rise sheer from the water, its battlements are crenelated and have arrow loops, and its towers command the opposite shores. 

Lord Hoster Tully, a stern and rough man by the accounts he'd heard from Ser Brynden and Lord Baelish was courteous, though slightly miffed by his presence. Jon knew that it was only because of Lady Stark's request that Jon was even allowed in her father's house. So Jon kept himself quiet and humble lest he gave his host any   reason to complain, even though he was instructed by Ser Brynden to be himself. On the other hand, Ser Edmure Tully reminded him a lot of Robb the only difference being that Robb had a slightly longer face of Starks. Other than that he had a cheerful disposition quite reminiscent of his brother.

Jon had been introduced to the Lady Asha Greyjoy while she first came to Winterfell. At that time, she was a skinny girl with knob knees and a face full of pimples. Now after three years, Asha is lean and long legged, with dark eyes and long black hair. Her face is thin, with a big, sharp nose, and smooth pale skin. Since Jon hardly spent any time in her company she was a virtual stranger to him. Despite that her courtesies were impeccable suggesting the firm hand Lady Catelyn had played in her upbringing. She was mindful of the consequences her father’s reckless rebellion had placed upon the Iron Islands in general and upon her family in particular, as such was resolved to do her duty in keeping the King’s Peace.

Theon was a revelation, gone was the cocky youth of his past life who always had a mocking grin on his face and had a passion for drinking and whoring. Instead, he had a serious demeanour and was polite in his greetings to most, although Jon could see the hateful looks he threw at the ‘Greenlanders’ on occasion. His clothing reflects his pride in his heritage and he puffs up a little every time someone addresses him as Lord Greyjoy but seem to resent the presence of his regent, his uncle Lord Rodrik Harlaw.

Jon had a teary reunion with his siblings and Sam. As always Robb led the pack by chattering incessantly about their shenanigans in Winterfell with Sam and Sansa playing second fiddle. Barely four years old, Arya was her spitfire self getting reaquainted with Jon, which was kind of heart breaking for him as Arya is the one person Jon loved best. Bran was still too young to make head or tail of what was going around him but nonetheless welcomed another admirer to his growing fanclub. 

The Tully family soon welcomed lady Lysa Arryn from kings landing along with her less than an year old son Robert Arryn, who she hasn't yet weaned. Her husband Lord Jon Arryn, the hand of the king had begged pardon being held up at the capital due to king's business. She seemed a bit hesitant while reuniting with her family and watched Jon with suspicion whenever he was near. He wondered what harm he could have ever done to her then remembered what they thought of bastards South of the Wall and North of Dorne. He couldn't care less as happy he was to be with his family. Even Lady Catelyn had an approving smile on her face when she met him. Surely, Ser Brunden must have praised him to the heavens, though he rarely did so in his presence. 

Once the expected guests and family members had arrived the wedding was conducted in the Sept at Riverrun. Initially, there were some disgruntled noises from the lords of Iron Islands but a stern look from Lord Harlaw silenced them. It was him that gave the bride away. 

If the wedding was a rather quite affair the following feast was the exact opposite. Jon had rarely been in the middle of such pomp and show. Even the welcoming feast held at Winterfell on the arrival of King Robert paled in comparison. A lot of young knights and heirs to Riverlords had arrived and being of an age with the groom were particularly noisy. A parade of songs and dances once started went in till late night from which thankfully Jon was excused due to his young age. 

Oddly enough when a month after his arrival at Riverrun, Ser Brynden started preparing for their departure, Jon had started missing the Eyrie and his companions there. When he said as much in the presence of Robb he was positively flabbergasted. It took some convincing on his mother's part for him to understand that Jon needs to work hard to earn his place in the world which would go a little easier for him if he's unencumbered of his family ties. Though he made Jon promise to visit them at the earliest, at which Jon had to bite his tongue before he divulged his earlier plans to visit Winterfell. 

Jon was glad to a much improved Sam. Though his liking with sweet and fatty foods remained, he had learned the virtue of moderation and in the presence of a far better father figure was resolved to prove himself a far better person than he was in Jon's previous life. He expressed his gratitude to Jon in making him believe in himself. Jon felt really proud of himself when he saw Robb bonding with Sam in the same way he had done with Theon earlier, only this time their father's ward was a much better influence on his brother. Though, he had a lingering suspicion that there was someone other than Robb who had bonded with Sam albeit in a different way altogether. Sansa had a sweetness to her which few in the world could match. Her interests in song, dance, sweets and tales of chivalry found a ready victim in Sam who indulged her much in the same way Jon would do with Arya.

As always Jon found saying goodbye to Arya the most difficult. Jon knew that even though they haven't spent as much time together as in his past life, Arya felt a bond with him which she didn't even feel with her true born siblings. Even though Jon knew he wasn't their sibling, the connection he'd felt was still there and growing strong. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quiet chapter before mayhem ensues.


	22. Mayhem in Vale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get heated in Vale. Later half of 293 AC.

As the first half of the year passed by, Jon found himself in an informal meeting of sorts with Ser Brynden. He informed Jon that he will be traveling to Runestone, to speak with Lord Yohn Royce regarding pirate activity near his coasts, and would like Jon to come along as well. Lord Royce is a good friend of Jon's "father" Lord Stark and moreover a distant relative, so it would be a good experience for Jon. However, the in-land roads and path to Runestone have seen no lack of tribal troubles in recent years and it could be dangerous bringing a child through such travels. So therefore he puts the question forward to Jon as to whether he wishes to accompany him or not.

After giving his assent to Ser Brynden, he spent a little bit of time with Myranda and Albar asking them about their more ennobled cousins. Myranda is significantly more sharing than Albar, who largely grumbles about the good fortunes of some. According to her anyway, their branch of the Royce’s started with her great-great-grandfather, Raymar Royce, a second son of the Lord of Runestone who'd gone into merchantry and used that wealth to buy lands and a lordship deep within the Mountains of the Moon for himself and his house. His eldest (her grandfather) married a Frey, while his second son married a Stark and the third a Grafton. The second had none but daughters who married into Houses Corbray, Waynwood and Templeton and cost their grandfather dowries, while the third died during a tribal raid. That had been a constant, according to her, so much so that their peasants migrated elsewhere and the losses bankrupted their branch of the family within two generations. As a result, her father had been reduced to mere knightly status (having been a ward of the Eyrie) and reliant on the goodwill of Lord Arryn.

After patiently hearing her out, Jon reminded her that he was hoping to hear about the Royce’s of Runestone, she huffed angrily but acceded his request. House Royce in general is an old blood-line, warlords in the Vale and of the blood of the First Men prior to the landing of the Andals, though over time their blood has mixed strongly with the Andal Houses. When Ser Artys Arryn slew the Griffin King, the Royces bent the knee from Runestone and were allowed to keep their holdings, though Myranda states her brother's occasionally told her that not all the Royces bent the knee so easily, that some of their distant kin could still be found amongst the tribesmen.

As for more recent history, she knows that the current head of the House is Lord Yohn Royce, oft-called the Bronze Lord or Bronze Yohn for his bronze armour inscribed with ancient runes. A father of three sons and two daughters, his seed is strong and the House's future should be stable barring any unfortunate circumstances. He is a loyalist to House Arryn and rallied to their banner during Robert's Rebellion. He served both under Lord Arryn as well as the King and Lord Stark, often given command of the heavy horse during engagements. All in all, a most admirable man.

Jon thanked her for her help and headed back to his room to finish packing his personal belongings, mindful to keep his iron dagger close at hand. After all, Ser Brynden did say there'd been trouble on the roads.

********

Heading out from the Vale to the Gates of the Moon and then past the Bloody Gate Jon and Ser Brynden (and thirty men on horseback) ride amicably through somewhat well-travelled mountain paths in a direct path to Runestone. An admirable (and theoretically annoying) feature of the Vale is the various hamlets scattered across the hills and mountains sworn to one lord or another. Often times the boundaries tend to get murky and lords get to quarrelling, and there's always the chance of a tribesmen raid happening. Still, they provide a relative defensive advantage for fighting an invading army, as he could see the great stores of foodstuffs prepared and the relatively decent roads (though rather variable in some places) carrying them along their way. So despite a sense of unease early on, Jon found himself almost enjoying the trip itself, listening intently to the banter of the men around him or sighting some local flora or fauna that Ser Brynden points out to him.

Four days later and nearly a third of the way left, the party made its way to a hamlet just within the borders of Lord Royce's lands. The master of the town bids them all welcome most joyfully (a strange attitude at the sight of thirty-two armed men), regretfully offering them all a few empty barns to rest in the night as they do not have inns capable of hosting them all. He offers to Jon and Ser Brynden two available rooms in his own house however, as well as some of the best food and drink their humble hamlet has to offer.

As Ser Brynden casually accepts the town master's offering of shelter and food for the night, they take a look around the village. There seem to be palisades encircling the outer extent of the village in its entirety, and one can spot more than a couple of men sitting close by to bows or hunting spears and wood-axes scattered around the area, wearily looking at their party before returning to their own conversations and tasks. As Jon returned his attention to the town's master and Ser Brynden, he heard the town's master call for bread, salt and water for their party. All the men take a little of each, including Jon, before giving thanks to the town's master (whose name is Godfrey) for the gift of guest right this day. The Godfrey himself waves it off, saying the hamlet is always happy to see good men of the Vale through their travels. He calls for one of the older men and tells him to take the party and their horses to the eastern barns, those not yet filled by a summer's harvest and storage. He nods and sets off, all of them following behind him as Jon cast a wary look at Godfrey and the other folk of the hamlet.

Arriving the barns, Jon noted their dishevelled state, with more than a couple of damaged boards evident in the late noon light. When asked, the old guide flushed and muttered something about not being able to cut proper wood to patch up an old bar or two. The men dismount here, taking their horses inside one of the barns and rubbing them down along with feeding them from the few stacks of hay and barley present. Several more take the remaining stacks of hay and make communal mattress from them, spreading them out enough across the hard stone of the barn floors to make for an easier sleep. The last few break out the food bags, and look to start preparing food. As the smells begin to waft, he wondered whether or not he should actually eat before going to bed tonight. Still, Ser Brynden insisted and he forced down the bowls of brown mostly seeing the gusto with which Ser Brynden's is eating his share.

Having eaten, most of the men get ready to sleep, with three men told to take two hour's shift of night watch before waking three others to take their place. Standard attitude when between hamlets or villages, but being where they were, Jon thinks it a little odd.

Despite the harsh floors and less than elite company, Jon surprised himself by falling rather deeply into a good sleep. Sure, he'll ache and be soar all over in the morning, but for now... it's perfect.

Which is why he almost stabs the man who wakes him up with his wolf-pommel dagger, groaning slightly as he got up. Doing so, he noticed that most of the other men were up on their feet and getting dressed or already dressed and with their weapons in hand. Jon opens his mouth to ask what's going on, but the man who woke him clasps his hands around his mouth and says, "Tribesmen have just attacked the village. Ser Blackfish just sent one of the men up on the roof to scout the situation. So try to not make any noise, yeah? We don't know how close they are."

Jon nod silently and breathe in relief as he lets him go. Waiting for the scout to return seemingly takes ages as the voices and shouting gets louder from outside, but in reality it's only a minute before he jumps back down into a particularly large pile of hay and rolls forward to stand up in front of Ser Brynden.

"Fifty in total, armed with iron axes and spears, couple of greatswords and five archers I think. Not much for armour besides some bones and cheap deer skins, but they look like they've been about this thing before. They killed three of the villagers who'd been on watch around the palisade with them and then climbed over. A group of ten's snuck over the south wall past the palisades, between a bunch of the village guards heading out of their home. Rest of them are in front of the main street, breaking up in small groups to hit the houses on either side. They didn't spot me, doubt they know we're here."

"Orders, Milord?"

Without delay, Ser Brynden begins executing commands, dispatching the archers already in his presence to the northern and southern halves of the village with orders to make their way upon roofs and high vantages. Those in the north are told to take as many targets as possible without drawing undue attention, and those in the south are told to await their reinforcement of the other barn's host of warriors before engaging.

At that slight mutters break out as Ser Brynden confirms the splitting of their host in order to confront and flank both groups with utmost haste and to reinforce the village's few guards. Besides the archers already dispatched, fifteen will fight alongside him in the main streets of the village and occupy the tribesmen's attentions while the remainder mop-up those in the south before pushing north in an encirclement. Slightly risky, but it could work. Jon is asked to remain behind, as a child of barely ten is of no use upon the battlefield. As the men head out, he quickly climbs up to the upper level of the barn, and situate himself in a good vantage point to oversee the battle.

*******

The archers already dispatched make their way stealthily across the village, avoiding any attention upon creepy shadows as they reach their chosen enfilade points and climb to them. The men under Ser Brynden's direct command are not so lucky or stealthy, and are immediately spotted by some more aware tribesmen who roar in response and assemble to face them under the command of a particularly fearsome leader. Behind them, the remainder split up again into two separate warbands.

As that contingent marches, so too does another advance upon a trio of unlucky village guardsmen, supported only by two archers located on nearby buildings. They make a stand of sorts as they form a wavering triangular porcupine, each man covering the other as the Vale archers’ loose arrows, but the guardsmen do not offer much challenge nor are the archers' aim in the dark night accurate. In a matter of moments, one guardsman is dead and another is bleeding from his shoulder, while the tribesmen are hardly worse for wear.

In the Southwest near the village entrance things are little better, as two of the six guards fighting there are already dead with a third wounded badly as well. As before, the tribesmen are showing little wear for their troubles, though Jon chalk that up to the deadly effect of five wildling bowmen amongst their ranks and outnumbering their foes more than two to one.

Jon notices that Ser Brynden's men and the Tribesmen have engaged. Fighting in equal numbers and Ser Brynden's men arrayed defensively in a shield wall, they are more than holding their own as three tribesmen are dead already and one moving with slight difficulty. What diminishes that sense of victory however is the sight of a dead Valesman, with another badly injured at the far end of the wall. Still, Ser Brynden seems to have that battle well in hand and one could tell that the tribesmen are rattled by the stiff resistance they're encountering.

Looking at the last scene of battle, Jon can't help but almost smile. As before, the village guardsmen were on the back-step, surrounded and outnumbered. But even as he turned his attention there, a trio of shots fly out of the darkness, with one striking a tribesman squarely into the small of his back. As three of those tribesmen turn around and present themselves on guard, twelve brave sons of the Vale charge forward at them in fury, almost knocking them over as they cut at them. Outnumbered now and at the back-step, the remaining seven tribesmen fall back and present a semi-circle, with one particularly imposing example at their head, shouting for aid. From his vantage point high above, Jon can see the battlefield shifting as the tribesmen react to these new enemies.

As he looks back to the two isolated archers and the guardsmen they aid, his mood dims rapidly as he sees the tribesmen utterly butcher both of the remaining guardsmen despite one of their own being badly hurt by a single arrow that found its mark right into his side.

Their immediate foes dead, the tribesmen split up into two groups, one circling around the houses seeking to attack the archers if possible, and the other heading east to aid the contingent fighting Ser Brynden's men. Looking frantically to the southwest, Jon noted grimly that they will be bolstered soon by their friends there, as the tribesmen and their archers fall upon the outnumbered guardsmen with a ferocity unlike anything he had witnessed. Injured, frightened and outmatched, they present not even a strike as they died. After a few moments of arguing, the archers peel off and head south with five more tribesmen, and the rest head to Ser Brynden's men. At Ser Brynden's front, both the injured warrior from before and another on the opposite end fall, the tribesmen clambering over them with and cutting them apart as if they were rotten wood. Yet once again, the superior fighting skill of the Valesmen make itself evident as they slay three of the enemy's own in unwavering focus.

What then, of the men posted at the south side? Fear not for them, for they stand ready and willing as they press once more into battle, slaying three of the tribesmen present and pushing back the surviving four at the cost of one dead guardsmen. The tribesmen seem set to waver, only to be bolstered by the presence of fresh reinforcements as the archers and tribesmen fall in line amongst them. Men almost ready to throw down arms and beg mercy now hoot and holler at their foes, who snarl in anger at the new numbers their enemies possess.

A tense standoff emerges for a few moments, before the maimed village guardsman leaps forward with his billhook and wildly cuts at one of the tribesmen. A perfectly aimed arrow flies out in response and takes him through the throat, dropping him down to the ground and leaving him there to be trampled, choking on his own blood as both sides charge. Once again the Valesmen prove the better despite their numbering few, killing three more tribesmen and losing two more guardsmen in turn.

Elsewhere, the fighting is little better as the northern archers play a game of cat and mouse with their pursuers in the darkness, firing glancing shots and taking the same in return. One of the archers is moving slower the others, a sure sign of his injured status. Had a throwing knife hit him, he wonders? Or an axe, as can be seen amongst the tribals nearer to Jon. Even as they move, Jon is struck by the worry that Ser Brynden's men may yet be flanked and encircled. A fear that only adds to the misfortune that they enjoy now, with two more brave Vale warriors dead and two tribesmen accompanying them to what accounts for tribal afterlife. The press of numbers is beginning to tell upon Ser Brynden's men, as less strikes find their mark and make their impact against such numbers.

******

A shout at the far north draws Jon’s attention, and he see that the tribesmen there have felled one of the archers, having surrounded his corpse to take out their barbaric satisfactions. A shadow leaps from a nearby roof, planting a dagger in the throat of one of the men. Both buckle to the ground and as the archer rolls away and up only for the other tribesmen to fall upon him in turn. Their enemies dead, the tribesmen make their way south to the streets to join the mass of men fighting Ser Brynden's own. There, things are continuing to take a turn for the worse as two more of Ser Brynden's men have fallen, dead at the hands of the tribal warlord there, wielding a greatsword to do his fell deeds.

It is at this point, Ser Brynden shout at him a challenge and the warlord roar in agreement and the two collide past Ser Brynden's men as the warlord charges through the brief gap opened by his victims. As Jon looks on entranced, the two weave & bob as Ser Brynden uses his experience and heavier armour to bait the warlord into extending himself time and again. The other man almost seems berserker as he rushes in, and Ser Brynden ultimately makes him pay for that by first literally disarming him and then near-fully impaling him on his sword. The warlord only roars in response and pulls himself into the blade, attempting to bring himself closer to Ser Brynden in order to bite out his throat. Ser Brynden in turn twists the blade inside his abdomen, before kicking him into a nearby house door. Trapped by the blade piercing the door itself, the warlord only hurts himself more as he attempts to pull it out, oblivious to Ser Brynden picking up his own greatsword and decapitating him in turn.

Dropping the weapon, he moves forward and throws the head into the mass of tribesmen hammering his men, smacking one so hard in the face it leaves him dazed for an incoming sword into his throat.

As the tribesmen realize what happened, they waver, then break completely as a blood-covered Ser Brynden charges at them bare-armed and an incredible fury in his eyes. As they flee, he suddenly, almost casually stops and picks up a sword from one of his dead men.

*******

Southwards, the tribesmen hear the din of battle and the fleeing of their compatriots and hesitate for a moment as they attempt to understand the cause. Rallied in turn by the sound of Ser Brynden screaming for House Tully, House Arryn and the Vale, the Valesmen howl in turn and charge one last time. The result is pure carnage, desperation on both sides absolute. The tribal warlord present attempts to rally his men by personal deed, cutting down the last remaining guardsman before finally killing the first of the Valesmen warriors present. But the men's blood is up far too much for such losses to deter them, and almost furiously kill four tribesmen in turn. Outnumbered two to one now, the warlord decides that discretion is the better part of valour and orders his men to fall back as the Valesmen give chase. All are now converging upon the western front of the village, both Tribesmen and Valesmen alike. With the warlord arriving to take command of the remnants of their once mighty host, the group as a whole coalesces into a shaky mass of fur and bone. Before long, both the men under Ser Brynden and the men of the south arrive in strength, merging numbers and forming a single, solidified shield wall. The three remaining archers move as hastily as they could to take up closer vantage points with which to aim and kill from. As Ser Brynden steps forward in front of his own men, he takes a good look at the opposing host and says one thing:

“Charge!!!!”

Even as Jon stare on entranced, he can't help but notice that the early glimmers of the dawn are beginning to make themselves present, better revealing the two small hosts fighting at the far western entrance of the village. Time and time again the two forces clash and throw themselves upon each other, the results bloodier than the last. The Tribesmen charged first after they rallied, a mass of men, fur and bones throwing themselves upon a thin line of Vale defenders, almost destined to break, but the line holds under Ser Brynden's leadership and bloodied visage, with not one of his fighting men taking a step back. The tribesmen pay dearly for their bravery, losing a fifth of their fighting force in these early minutes. Yet the Valesmen themselves are not unscratched, three men already wounded during earlier fighting falling as well to well-placed arrow strikes. The tribesmen fall back a little while under the cover of their archers aim, before charging anew. One particularly mad one throws himself over the shield wall entirely, rolling up and charging at Ser Brynden who decks him with a gauntlet-ensconced fist that knocks out more than a few teeth. A downward sing of the sword does the rest, and that tribesmen is soon followed by three of his brethren and two of Ser Brynden's retinue.

A brief breathing period occurs as both groups slowly move out of direct archer range, leaving their ranged forces to act as skirmishers as the fighting briefly abates. Two Valesmen are killed here, arrows piercing through their helmets' openings. Three Tribesmen soon join them, stumbling through the mud of the village streets and abandoned by their compatriots fearing to be next. Slowly regaining some sense of confidence as their warlord urges them on in their guttural tongue, the tribesmen charge a third time to no avail. Though they continue to whittle the Valesmen down, they lose three more of their own to one of Ser Brynden's men, caught out of line attempting to grab his knocked off helmet and taking a throwing axe to his head for his troubles. The shield line shrinks, but it holds. Jon sees it then, almost as well as Ser Brynden himself. Nearly two thirds of the entire tribal raiding party are dead, the remainder a mere shadow of the bravado and force at the onset of the attacks. In comparison, Ser Brynden yet has half of his force to him and his men are the sturdier foemen on the field. He lifts his sword and orders his men to charge. Almost immediately, the men build themselves into a steady jog, slowly building into running speeds. As the tribesmen desperately attempt to form a shield wall to blunt the attack, Jon see Ser Brynden roar a challenge echoed by his men, and the two lines meet for one final time.

The tribesmen are immediately overrun and their shield wall broken by the fury of the Valesmen charging them, with more than one tribesman or tribal archer outright knocked off his feet by it. Ser Brynden himself is in the thick of it, cutting down two men with nary a glance in their direction as he makes his way to the warlord in the centre, shouting obscenities and curses one can barely make out. The warlord hesitates, even looks to the gates of the village and the state of his men before shouting an order to break, to flee. But though the archers step back and seek to make their escape, they find their attempt cut off by five of Ser Brynden's men. Encircled and pushed into a shrinking circle, the Warlord chooses to charge Ser Brynden, hoping to kill him and use his death to make a successful escape.

The two take each other's measure for a single moment before Ser Brynden moves and is on the warlord. Despite his age and the heaviness of his armour, Ser Brynden moves quicker and faster, his battle joy evident even from a great distance. The warlord tries to use his strength and greatsword to batter him down, but it is to no avail as Ser Brynden avoids the worst of it with ease. Feinting forwards before bobbing to the right with a slice that cuts across the warlord's right knee, the old knight jabs at his back with all the speed and force he can muster, puncturing it and pushing the blade out to the other side. The warlord can only gurgle in pain as blood enters his punctured lungs, and stumbles to his knees. Letting go of his purloined sword, Blackfish draws a small knife and leans forward and plants it in his skull, finally killing him.

That final death ends the battle, as what is left of the raiding party throw down their arms and surrender themselves to Ser Brynden's mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me, it read far better in the original.


	23. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the battle, year 293 AC.

The aftermath of it all is muted. Ser Brynden took the tribesmen prisoner after accepting their surrender, disarming them of their men. While they remained under guard, the villagers were cajoled from their homes in order to help with moving the bodies of the deceased. Those of the raiding party were taken outside the village and burned on a pyre, while those of the village were buried in plots instead. Of the men who were under Ser Brynden's command, the decision is ultimately made to strip them of their armour and weapons (to be given to the village to arm their next selection of guardsmen) and bury them near the village as well with signifiers marking each man. Perhaps in the near future a riding force can be sent out to dig them back up and bury them closer to home, but the way things are, the mercy of the silent sisters present in the village is all the luxury afforded to them.

The matter of the prisoners and Ser Brynden's depleted retinue are of greater concern. Where 32 horsemen once rode, now half existed. Coupled with the temptation to offer temporary protection to the village and the presence of six tribesmen raiders who Lord Royce and Ser Brynden alike would like to interrogate, it makes for a bit of a sticky situation.

The battle is over, and Ser Brynden has won. Jon gave a little shout of joy at that, confident in his distance away from anyone to notice and felt embarrassed at such relief. It had been so close at some points, where it seemed Ser Brynden's men would have been the ones to break. But that was not the case, and even now he can spot Ser Brynden taking charge of his newly found prisoners, escorting them to the other barn that housed their party and horses during the night. One man, less wounded than the rest split off at a few words from Ser Brynden, and heads to the barn Jon still occupied, no doubt sent to collect him and have breakfast or some other stuff. Snorting at the sudden return to normality, Jon head back into the barn from his vantage point and made his way down to the ground of the barn carefully.

Landing safely, he turned to acknowledge the man and realized that he was the same who had awoken him from his slumber. Smiling wearily, he clasps Jon by the arm in a quick greeting before withdrawing. As he looks upon Jon, he in turn notice his hands to be badly bruised and a deep cut across the left side of his face from a glancing swing of a weapon. He tells Jon without unneeded courtesy that Ser Brynden has called for him, and asks to follow him. Frowning slightly, Jon nod in assent and do as asked, following him to the other barn where Ser Brynden is.....striking one of their prisoners?

His mentor turns as the two of them come in, temporarily ceasing the beating as he calls Jon over. Noting the slight shiver that crosses his body at the morning cold, he tells one of the men to fetch him an overcoat before directing his attention to the elderly tribesmen being held down. This, he says, is Mogh son of Llarth. A rapist, murderer and thief personally responsible for the deaths of twelve men, the kidnapping of four women (one Lord Royce's own sister) and having previously escaped Lord Royce's judgement. The old man laughs roughly as Ser Brynden counts off his crimes before Jon. He turns to Mogh and strikes him again to silence his laughter, before asking him a question. What would he and the other men have done, had they taken the village?

Mogh spits the blood into his face, and Ser Brynden casually wipes it off before striking him twice in the abdomen as hard as he can manage. As the tribesmen struggles to catch his breath, Ser Brynden almost apathetically tells him to answer. He snarls at the knight before hesitating at the sight of a raised fist. Once lowered, he turns his direction to Jon and leers. Without breaking his stare, he snarls at him, saying that they would have looted the village, killed the men and the elderly, raped their womenfolk and taken their children. Those of an age would have either been killed if boys, or sold on to other tribes if women. Those younger would have face much the same fate, sold on to other clans for those seeking fresh influx of youths to properly educate and raise as tribesmen, or those with more perverse intentions.

He says the last with an exaggerated lick of his lips and Jon respond without thought, clubbing him in the face as hard as his nine-year-old body can manage, damaging his already broken nose even further. Seeing him howl in pain even as the guards holding him down laugh, Jon tell him that you're no goat tied down for a breeding and he'd as soon cut him as let him touch himself. A little brave against a man held down and beaten, but his disgust at his claims and what Ser Brynden has attributed to him clouded his mind. Having seemingly intended to show Jon all he wished, Ser Brynden asks the man who brought him there to take Jon to the village and find some food for both, with more sent up to the barn in a while. The men are hungry, he says with a spit at tribesmen, from a poor butcher's work.

Jon eat silently for a while with the man, before asking him if it's always like this. The raids, the killings, the kidnappings, all of it. Was it just dressing up from Ser Brynden, or are they truly this bad. The man chews his mouthful of stew for a few moments, before turning to the side and spitting. And then he tells tales, tales he’d never wished to hear before, tales that rouse his blood and infuriate his ideals. Before the end of it, he is almost enraged enough to march out of the village and bring down on these savage men true justice.

However, he reassures himself, to think clearly. He is a boy of nine, with great hidden skills but without the strength or stature to back it. It is not time for oaths of justice and calls to great deeds, but that time will come. Sooner or later, the Valemen may do as they speak of and rally their banners against the mountain-folk and end their threat. Jon mused if that day will come in his own time, for these tribesmen have withstood the test of time, the fall of the weirwoods and the death of their royal family. For all their savagery, they are a truly people undaunted by the unkind fate history has bestowed upon them.

Jon remembers his time spent with the freefolk beyond the Wall and wonders idly how similar these mountain tribes are to them. His relationship and personal interactions with them had humanised them to Jon but the fact remained that almost the entire known world would steer clear of them. No wonder even his father balked at the thought of resettling them in the vicinity of Winterfell where his will was law.

After a few hours of breakfast, tending to the men's horses, weapons and health Jon returned to the barn hosting Ser Brynden and his guests, and see their corpses being carried out. He frowned a little at that. He can understand the rage against such monsters. But to accept surrender and then break it is shameful in its own way, even to those such as these. Entering, he found Ser Brynden washing his hands into a quickly reddening bowl of water. He waits for him to finish and when he does, he states that the party will continue their ride to Runestone soon and to gather their things.

After a goodbye from the town and its people (with several of the younger women chatting gaily to several of Ser Brynden's retinue), they ride out from the village and make your way east, to Runestone. They ride hard and without unease, confident in their surroundings as they enter more regularly patrolled lands, even stopping to speak with a group of highwaymen sworn to Lord Royce and informing them of the attack. They thank them for the news and praise their success, with the officer present (a landed knight once fostered at Runestone it seems) promising to ride soon to the village and attend to its defences. Thus assuaged, the party moves onwards.

After some time, they find yourself in the middle of the column alongside Ser Brynden, the men surrounding them on all sides and a little distant on horse. Ser Brynden discusses the events of the last day and night, offering his musings on what Lord Royce is liable to do and hear in regards to this latest raids. It has been an increasingly common thing, almost perplexingly so. But perhaps now they have some of the answers.

He changes the discussion quickly then. He asks Jon what he thought of his display, of what the tribesman said in turn. Even thoughts as to why he broke the traditional terms of surrender and interrogated those still living. He says this genially, without hint of bias or agenda in his tone.

Jon frown as he contemplates an answer to the problem. The tribesmen have lived here for hundreds and thousands of years, longer than the Starks in Winterfell even. And the Andals have been here long enough to claim these lands and realms as their own, long enough that the history of how they got it didn't matter. Neither side can claim the moral or historical right in this regard, for they both fought bloody wars to claim, take and hold it. One cannot fight or argue on historical merits, of historical conduct and misconduct, for both sides have sinned aplenty and without hesitation.

And yet, in this case and this time, it was the tribesmen who struck first, who struck bloody. It hadn't been the villagers raiding deep into the mountains seeking their holds, had it? No, they had come under the cover of night, seeking what the villagers had and killing their guardians. As clear as day without a word said, they had made their intentions clear as to what they intended, what they wanted and what they acted for. Surrender they might have, but what would have been the end-result? Taken to Lord Royce to face execution there? Given to the village for mob justice? Perhaps held in gaol until they died of old age or illness, with their kinsmen still fighting outside their jails. Going unstated is that they cannot be set free of course, to merely perpetrate what crimes and fell deeds done before. No, the path is simple, and the answer clear: Ser Brynden acted as needed to in the circumstances he found himself in, and cannot be made to blame or punished for mistreating those who had already chosen to mistreat others. As with all things, a price must be paid for one's actions.

Ser Brynden gives a quiet smile for this, having quietly listened to Jon work through the question put to him out loud. He gives a small laugh and ruffles your hair, wondering if that's a bit of the old Stark practicality coming through or just his own good influence. Jon act faux-confused at what possible good influence he could mean, only to shout in surprise as he smacks his horse's back lightly enough with his crop to make it hustle forward a bit.

"We'll be at Runestone by night, boy. Let's make it quicker!"

*******

 

Runestone, he decides, is actually all right. Having finally ridden out of the hills to appear near the inland coast separating Gulltown and Runestone from Iron Oaks and other major noble fiefs, the party rode rather steadily coast-side, hugging to it and away from the retreating hills. It's only an hour later that they actually see Runestone itself. A tall towering fortress only just built inland from the looks of it, with a thriving town built surrounding it on land, not quite what he'd hoped for. He'd seen some of the older ruins of the First Men that had dotted the North, during his early years in the previous life and after learning that the Royce were of the same heritage, it didn't seem that they had held on to it. And then a strong wind comes in and shows it clear and fine, so he kicks in his heels and just ride down with Ser Brynden and the rest of the men.

Lord Royce, is a man of knightly sensibilities, if the way he greets Ser Brynden and introduces his sons are anything to go by. The eldest is Andar who is twice of Jon’s age and rather tall besides. Already a knight of the Vale, he learned almost immediately that the village they'd stayed in had been part of certain lands granted to him by his father in trust as a test of his abilities.

Judging how Lord Royce took news of the raid and Andar's confession of absence to visit Gulltown, it's safe to say there'll be a fair bit of tension for the remainder of the visit. His second son Robar is six years older than Jon and nearing the end of his squire hood with Lord Grafton of Gulltown, an arrangement Jon suspect made after Robert's Rebellion as Lord Grafton had been of the loyalist affiliation. His youngest son, Waymar is an arrogant little shit, Jon decide almost immediately upon his shift in attitude upon hearing the word Snow as Ser Brynden introduces him.

To be fair, his brothers are little better for their disdain but they hide it better and quicker. To his credit, Lord Royce himself does not bat an eye, greeting Jon warmly and speaking fondly of his father, Lord Stark. And of course, there is his only daughter, Ysilla Royce, who appears to have remained in Grafton when her brothers returned home. Jon greet each of them politely in turn, reciprocating the warmth shown to him in turn. One can tell that Ser Brynden catches it when he heard a sigh from behind, but Jon is not inclined to play court in a first time meeting with a bunch of complete strangers giving him the stink eye. He sighs slightly as everyone heads into the great hall for the welcome meal, knowing that this will be a long trip.

The evening meal goes well, and Jon found himself getting along with the Royce men a little better as Lord Yohn regales all of his time fighting alongside Lord Stark during the Rebellion and their shared childhood prior when he was a ward. He is surprised to know that Lord Royce knows both Lord Stark and King Robert so very well (indeed, he's been a regular invitee to most of the tournaments held at King's Landing since his coronation!). The stories loosen up his sons a little more towards Jon, and he shared some of his own stories in turn, telling the Royce children of how dangerous his arrival to the Vale actually was (not missing the mutual frowns on both Ser Brynden and Lord Royce regarding it) with the pirates.

Andar and Robar regale Jon in turn of battles with bandits and tribesmen across the Royce lands, with Andar particularly engaging into a tale regarding his running feud with Ser Clayton Archay, the Fox Knight of Gulltown. A former banner-man to House Arryn, he was amongst the many who fought for the Targaryens during the Rebellion and was stripped of his lands in absentia after the Vale loyalists surrendered. Turning to banditry and operating out of the more remote mountain valleys, he's been known to raid deeply into Royce territory to avenge the loss of his lands to House Royce. Waymar pouts at all the stories being exchanged, not having much to share himself. As the discussions go on, Andar informs him of a small tournament taking place over the next few days amongst House Royce's bannermen and sell-swords, with many of the peasantry coming in as well for the festivities. It occurred to Jon that Ser Brynden chose this time specifically to meet, in order to hold his discussions with all men of importance present in this corner of the Vale.

Ultimately, the dinner comes to a conclusion as the food ends and the drinks stop, with all heading to bed (or in the case of Ser Brynden, joining Lord Royce for drinks in his study). Jon found himself escorted by a serving maid to a room prepared for him and he eagerly turn into bed for a proper night's sleep. After all, tomorrow’s a new day.

********

The next three days pass somewhat slowly as Jon found himself occupied by all manner of things, from the nearing trip to Winterfell to the increasingly visible problem of the Vale tribals to the tourney and the festivities itself. Accompanied by Ser Brynden, those of his lordly and knightly vassals and sworn swords, Lord Royce leaved Runestone & Runehold alike for a whole day of hunting in the forests and hills near the coast, leaving Robar Royce and Ser Samwell Stone (the bastard-born master-of-arms in Runestone) in charge of the festivities, with Robar hosting and receiving the noble youths and wards left behind for the hunt and Ser Samwell in charge of security due to the influx of people from outlying farms and communities for the traditional festival markets. Jon initially thought of going with them, but instead chose to stick with the tournament itself, reasoning that the town and the keep could hold for a future visit.

On the first day, he woke up earlier than usual, making his way towards the great hall of the keep for breakfast to meet with Robar and Waymar Royce, greeting and eating with many of the noble youths left behind. He noticed that Robar holds himself well, obviously a budding leader of this group of boys much like Robb was in Winterfell. Due to his youth, Waymar is a little bit more on the outside of the group, often cutting in the conversation with a retort or remark that riles up one of the older boys before Robar steps in with a joke of his own to cool tempers. Waymar threw a jibe Jon’s way as he sat at the table and helped himself to some sausage, but he was too tired to verbally retort and just dip two fingers in his goblet of water before flicking them in his face. He pouts a little at that, changing his goblet for another of juice as he digs into his plate of food. Jon ate somewhat quietly, with Robar introducing him to the other boys present.

 

There are only three seated here, all sons of household knights sworn to Lord Royce and squired amongst one another's fathers. The first is Caldwell Withell, an eleven-year-old boy who reminds Jon a little of Theon Greyjoy in size. He greets him the most warmly, shaking his hand and asking him about the Eyrie. The second, one Victor Wisent is in contrast the largest of the boys and the youngest at ten, already filling out rather impressively. He merely nods to Jon as he eats his food, which he seems to particularly enjoy as he wolfs don on a great plate of rashers. The last, one Devan Turner is the most prominent of the guests here, his father Lord Reginald Turner being amongst Lord Royce's neighbours and known for his valour in combating the tribesmen. He spares Jon the least attention or friendliness at hearing him to be of Stark blood, muttering something that Jon miss but Royce doesn't, fixating him with a frown that shuts him up. Finished eating soon afterwards, Jon clean up and head out to the archery grounds set up outside Runehold proper, where most of the merchants and incoming tradesmen have set up.

 

Jon found himself slightly distracted, uneasy at the sight of so many people present or arriving for the festivities. Though the games put on by the small-folk for the small-folk (including wrestling, log-tossing, tug-rope, and so on) are very entertaining (with the highlight being the sight of a rather fat drunk getting tackled to the muddy ground by a bear of a man), he can't help but think of the tribal attack on the holdfast not a few days ride from here. With so many lords and knights having arrived for the celebrations, how many of them would have left their lands guarded or denuded of fighting men meant for their escorts. He grimly thinks it is very likely to be that many of them will be returning to fresh graves.

 

These thoughts consume him  during most of the archery tourney, where over a hundred men arriving from within Lord Royce's lands as well as hunters, woodsmen, rangers and some of his own troops compete for the monetary prizes on offer. For some of the small-folk, the hundred copper stars offered would be feeding their families for five years. For the sworn swords, wealth to spend on drinks and women. Those squires and pages present and competing merely seek the glories of winning the competition, though none of them will say no to the coin itself. All are eager, all desire it. Even to an extent Jon himself.

 

As he stood waiting amongst the squires and pages competing, Robar speaks in front of the assembled competitors, informing them of the rules and strictures: 3 rounds of competing against five-ringed targets starting at forty meters afar, with the targets pulled back a further ten meters each round. Should there be sufficient men upon reaching the third round, the targets would be pulled back another twenty. If there were still multiple winners at that time, the prize would be divided amongst them equally. Those with consecutive better shots (inner rings being better) would advance in the rounds. Everyone mutters their assent to this at Robar's conclusion, and he orders the archery to begin, with men lining up to begin shooting:

 

Round 1: Sixteen people are disqualified here, either too poor in aiming so as to hit only the outermost ring, or too drunk from a few hours of celebrating and drinking to aim. One of them manages to hit one of the strong men moving the targets in his leg, forcing Robar to order the man under arrest and the injured party to seen to. Jon perform well enough here, hitting the middle ring, more than enough to continue. Waymar holds his own here as well, as do Withell, Wisent and Turner.

 

Round 2: As the targets are pulled back ten metres the attrition hits far stronger in the second round, with seventy-three people failing to make the cut and hit the rings necessary for continuation. Jon is a part of the seventy-three, having just missed the middle ring as his arm wavered and hit the second outermost one instead. He sulked a little at this, only slightly taking comfort in seeing Victor Wisent, Devan Turner and Waymar Royce also locked out of the remainder of the tournament. Caldwell Withell passes through with ease, putting his arrow into the second innermost ring. Three other men equal his attempt, and the rest settle for the most outer ring allowable. Jon idly note that the three bowmen who escorted them to Runestone are also amongst those drummed out.

 

Round 3: With only eleven competitors left (and Caldwell Withell the only squire competing), those watching have gotten slightly rowdier, many locals or visitors cheering those they know, with sizable groups both cheering and jeering the calm and collected Withell squire. Jon and the other squires cheer and holler for him, trying to take some small measure of satisfaction in one of their own winning the challenge. For his part, he ignores the noise of the crowds and the elbowing of the older men remaining as he focuses on the retreating targets. As everything is ready, the eleven men take aim and fire and three arrows find the perfect mark, striking the innermost ring with deadly precision. Two are grown men, likely victors or survivors of various skirmishes throughout their lifetimes. One he recognized, an elderly man sworn to Lord Royce service and no doubt his chief huntsman. The other he doesn’t and indeed it seems no one present knows or claims to know him as no one cheers him on or addresses him besides shouts of "the big bearded cunt" from the rowdier people in the crowds. The third is Caldwell Withell who is studiously ignoring everyone around him and examining one of his arrows. As the crowds jeer and cheer, Robar shouts for silence, before asking the men if they would continue or rather split the winnings. The two men huddle up and mutter furiously for a few minutes, before turning their attention to Caldwell, who merely shrugs his assent. Unity achieved, the three assent to splitting the prize, much to the displeasure of the crowds seeking an ultimate victor. Each competitor receives thirty-four stars for their troubles, with Robar making up the difference from his own coin purse. The elderly archer and Withell bow their heads in thanks, while the bearded titan merely grunts something before leaving, drawing frowns and jeers from those around him, though Robar does nothing. As the crowds filter out from the archery grounds and head elsewhere for the remaining entertainment of the day, Withell joins them and the others with a quiet smile on his face, jingling his earnings with obvious pride as all congratulate him on the way back to the keep, all intent on celebration.

 

*********

 

The hunting party returns that same night, heaped with rabbits, deer, foxes and all manner of beasts for skinning and cooking. Even as Jon and the rest of the boy’s head off with parents or wards for one reason or another (though he sees that Caldwell's father smiles broadly at his son's well-deserved victory and lifts him high on his shoulders at hearing the news), the cooks and kitchen boys grab their share of the meats and make their way down to the kitchens, ready to cook even as more of their colleagues come out with drinks and refreshments for the hungry hunters. Jon sit next to Ser Brynden up and the Royce family on the high table as one of the guests of honour, ignoring some of the envious looks sent his way and smiling politely towards the shouts of "Stark! Stark!" that some of the First Men-descendant houses shout his way in lieu of greeting. Clearly his presence has been noted, even if he hasn’t introduced himself to most of them.

 

Jon and Ser Brynden discuss the hunt and the archery tournament in great detail, with Andar, Robar and Waymar chipping in details from either side as the feasting goes on. Lord Yohn does his best to involve himself, but is often distracted by his guests raucous or Ser Samwell coming and going with whispers in his ear. Some whispers are received easily, with others less so as Lord Royce frowns or sighs. Nothing seems too bad, no doubt merely an update of the day's events from Ser Samwell's point of view as he ran security for the festival. Or at least, Jon hoped so.

 

Eventually the feasting wound down and all went to bed, though he noticed once again that Ser Brynden headed with Lord Royce, this time joined by a collection of the more prominent or powerful lords amongst his guests, including Lords Turner, Harlton, Redthorn. His natural curiously and inquisitiveness drew it to his attention and left him wondering: What exactly are they talking about? The tribal raids? The pirates? Something else entirely? He could try and sneak around the area and figure things out or he could just go to bed. Decisions, decisions.

 

It's almost too easily, he thought to himself as he made his way past patrols of guards, drunken men and whatever accounts for the hold's night staff. Far easier than anything in Winterfell or the Eyrie actually, a fact which pleases and worries him. For all his inquisitiveness, he is no great thief or assassin to make his way in the night so smoothly. He passed the corridors without thought or concern, something that shouldn't have happened. If it had been so easy for him, a guest of two days and a child of nine years to do so, how easy would it be for others? Killers sneaking in the night? Spies, reporting on Lord Royce? Tribesmen, bent on pillage on plunder? Such thoughts disturb him.

As the minutes pass, he found himself near the private offices of Lord Royce. Much like Lord Stark's chambers in Winterfell and Ser Brynden's in the Eyrie, they were located close enough to the maester's raven rookery. Surprisingly, there are no guards stationed across the corridor, no doubt to ensure the secrecy of what is being discussed here. Not wishing to question his good luck, Jon made his way to the door and listened. Hearing almost excellently through the heavy oak door, he is able to identify the presence of several men by their voices, including Lord Yohn Royce, Ser Brynden Tully, Lord Reginald Turner, a Lord Harlton, and Sers Grimwell, Shett and Thornwood.

  
As the Valemen themselves listen, Ser Brynden discusses the various problems plaguing the Vale. A dozen pirate ships of unknown origins striking across the northern and southern coastlines, most notably targeting shipping out of Gulltown and White Harbour, with almost thirty trading ships sunk or lost in the last two years alone. The only patches of coastal territory to be described as "untouched" are the Sisters and the Fingers, the former of which rouses Lord Harlton to accusations against a Lord Sunderland, blaming his "band of pirate lords" for the damages. Ser Brynden soothes him back to his seat, before continuing that even Lord Sunderland does not possess the wealth (or the bravery) to support such a large fleet independently. No significant changes in docking have been noted by Ser Brynden's men on the isles (a mention that surprises Lord Harlton), nor have Sunderland captains gone unscathed. While Lord Grafton is continuing to pursue the problem independently with his captains, he has already written to Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon regarding the loan of some of the royal fleet to aid Lord Grafton and address this problem.  
  
The next discussed problem is that of the Mountain of Moons tribes. They have been relatively insular these past few months, with attacks at their lowest in the past decade. When questioned by Lord Turner as why this exactly is a problem, one can almost hear the frown in Ser Byrnden's voice as he explains. He tells them of the attack on a hamlet during his travels to Runestone, his retinue's presence preventing the sack of the town by a war-band. A war-band, led by Mogh son of Llarth. He can almost feel the tension from his side of the door, before Lord Royce quietly asks Ser Brynden to repeat what had already been told to him. Ser Brynden assents, and informs those present that his interrogation of Mogh revealed significant infighting amongst the tribes with hundreds dead. He ignores Lord Turner's repeated question, and explains that a new warlord has risen to the forefront of tribal conflicts.  
  
A warrior from the western mountains known as Ungren (son of Stern), he has already assimilated a dozen tribes into his own by killing their men and adopting their women and children. He had repeated this in his raids against Vale hamlets and villages, attacking heavily isolated fiefs with his full might and claiming everything of worth within them. According to Mogh, he already calls a thousand warriors (some green or old) to his banner, and is professing descent from the Mountain Kings of old. His men are armed better than most tribesmen as evidenced by the quality shown by Mogh and his men, and were able to fight Vale sworn swords on a more equal footing than anything prior in centuries.  
  
Lord Turner presents a rebuttal here of sorts to Ser Brynden. While appreciating the service down by Ser Brynden in slaying Mogh's war-bands, a thousand rag-tag savages are no match for the might of the Vale. Even less so considering they have largely focused on killing other savages. While alerting the great and lesser lords of the Vale to this new information is of course necessary, a general alarm is not. The tribesmen are only dangerous for their ability to attack and retreat within the mountains in small numbers, numbers destroyed in detail in any engagement against Vale knights. In addition, history has shown that they are simply too disorganized and prone to infighting to support an individual leader. In fact he says, the man would probably be dead within the year by one of his lieutenants. And of course, even if he did somehow manage to unite each and every one of these savages, what then? Even at a most generous estimate, the savages number eight or nine thousand, ten thousand at best in fighting strength, a paltry number to the forty five thousand holy warriors that Lord Arryn can deliver against them in open battle. Let the savages unite, he says. Let them come out of their holes and die under the open skies.  
  
Unhelpfully, a snigger escapes Jon's mouth as he envisioned his mentor aghast at the man's arguments, his idiocy in arguing to allow an enemy to prosper and grow in strength. Who was he, an Andal knight to think he would survive the consequences of his actions any better than them?  
  
Suddenly the door opens inwards, toppling him over at unfamiliar feet. An unknown hand picks him up by the scruff of his neck and dump him in front of Lord Royce.  
  
"It seems we've a little rat in the corridor."  
  
To his distant right, Jon can see Ser Brynden sigh in frustration.

He slowly gets up, dusting himself off almost casually. Looking around in faux confusion, he notes the upset look of Ser Brynden, the anger on the faces of Lord Turner and the Vale knights present as well as the mix of curiosity and dislike on Lord Royce's features. And then went for it:

"This isn't where I stabled my horse!", he said in mock outrage and confusion before bowing to Lord Royce "So sorry my lords, I'll be on my way. You just - just go on with whatever it was that I interrupted."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a few original characters from the dragon of the north.


	24. A rivalry borns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runestone, year 293 AC.

_"This isn't where I stabled my horse!", he said in mock outrage and confusion before bowing to Lord Royce "So sorry my lords, I'll be on my way. You just - just go on with whatever it was that I interrupted."_

He did an about turn and left, walking past a dumbfounded Ser Shett and right out the door into the corridor. He made it halfway down the corridor when he heard the sounds of laughter break out behind himself, with a sputtering Lord Turner demanding someone to bring him back. 

Jon decided that caution is what is necessary here and took himself away, heading directly to his room. A part of him was tempted to head to the stables and spend some time with his mount, but he decided that it's late enough and go to a warm, waiting bed. His glorious sleep is not interrupted the entire night, and he awakened to find himself still in the guest room and not in a dungeon or watched over by grim-faced guards. Curious about the lack of reaction from Lord Royce, he checked outside his room and saw no one there as well. Shrugging, he washed and dressed before making his way to the breakfast, where he saw all of those who had been present at Lord Royce's meeting staring at him with varying degrees of venom or amusement. Lord Turner represented the former in great abundance as he whispers to his son while Ser Thornwood almost chokes on a sausage upon his entry.

Slightly self conscious, he found himself bidden to join the main table by Ser Brynden with a gesture, and lacking any options he did so, walking up to the table and finding himself directed to a seat right between Ser Brynden and Lord Yohn Royce. With slight trepidation he sat, and begin piling food onto his plate.

To his credit, his mentor waited until he began cautiously drinking a glass of juice before he says anything.

"So, did you find that horse after all?"

Harsh citric liquids burst from his nose and made a mess of everything around him, including some delectable sausages and eggs. Andar, Robar and Waymar about near wet themselves laughing, with Lord Royce smiling as he drank a goblet of clear water. The rest of the breakfast went smoothly as neither man discussed the night's events, seemingly happy to wait until it's conclusion. At said conclusion, Ser Brynden, Lord Royce, the the other noblemen present at the meeting peeled off with Jon into a side chamber almost effortlessly, with Ser Brynden seating him on a table as the men form a semi circle around.

 

"Jon, would you care to explain last night?" 

 

So here it was. Jon, a gaggle of adults and his mentor/host discussing his little midnight walkabout. Luckily, he knew how to explain himself.

"My apologies, my lords. Most especially to you Lord Royce, and to you Ser Brynden. It's just that even after the events of the day's archer tourney and the feast, I couldn't sleep and felt rather restless. I didn't think anyone would mind if I explored the castle a little, and the few people I saw in the corridors seemed to be still celebrating or enjoying themselves. When I had entered the corridor to your offices, I'd heard voices and became curious. When it was clear your discussion was about the mountain tribes, I stayed where I was to listen."

He hesitated for a second before continuing, "After seeing the danger that they pose, of what they do to the smallfolk, I just wanted to stay informed. And I didn't think anyone would tell me anything because of my age. And then I got caught and just reacted. I'm sorry for the horse nonsense. It was untruthful and unbecoming of me. I strive to be a knight and act as one, and I shouldn't have lied to you all last evening."

 

He looked at them, and waiting their response. A few moments of silence pass and then, "Do you think us fools, boy?" says Lord Turner angrily "Wandering the corridors of the castle because you couldn't sleep, and just by luck happening by Lord Royce's offices? About as unlikely as a tribesman deciding to become a septon! Admit it boy, you came to spy on the meeting!"

 

"It is very suspicious that you just coincidentally arrived in time to hear us discuss the tribesmen," says Lord Harlton as he gazes at you "if that was all you heard."

 

"Leave off him you two," says Ser Thornwood with a bark of a laugh "You're accusing a boy of nine years of spying on some of the most powerful lords of the Vale. To what end? Is he going to send word to his father? About pirates and tribesmen? Hardly the most signficant interest to the North. Or perhaps you think he'll sell the information to a tribesmen. Earn himself a few lion furs and a leg of goat for his troubles. We've all been mischievous as children, no different than this. He apologized and that's good enough for me."

 

"What's good enough for a Thornwood is given to the pigs at Hawkhaven," says Turner dismissively "This boy wilfully, intentionally chose to spy on not only Lord Royce, on all of us. An apology does not serve as just compensate for this ... this outrage!"

 

"Shall we tar and feather him, then?" says Ser Grimwell casually "perhaps dress him as a horse and ridden by a dwarf through the streets of Runehold? Would that satisfy your precious honour, Reginald?"

 

"That's Lord Turner to you, Grimwell!" says the Lord of Hawkhaven with a slight sneer "Not that I should expect adherence to niceties from an up-jumped merchant's son."

 

"I'll show you up-jumped you pretentious would-be sept-"

 

"Enough."

 

With a single word Lord Royce silenced the argument, even though a mutinous Lord Turner seems almost anxious to continue it.

 

"Jon, did you intentionally spy on our gathering?"

 

"No my lord. There wasn't anyone guarding the doors or anything, so I didn't think much of it when I walked by."

 

"Yes, they were rather absent weren't they?" chortles Ser Shett from his corner of the room "What exactly were they up to Yohn?"

 

"Sam asked for extra men to patrol the town after night fell," says Lord Royce with a sigh "fortuitous as well, considering one of the pubs nearly burnt down. Nevertheless, unless someone else wishes to speak-", although his expression made it clear that no one shall.

 

"Then as the most senior of the aggrieved parties, I believe I can speak for us all in regards to levying a punishment. "Ser Brynden, would you consent, being that he is your squire?"

 

"As long as it's not unduly harsh, milord."

 

"Very well. For the high crimes of espionage and evading arrest, I hereby sentence you to, two days of hard labour in the kitchens, and to make apologies to all present."

 

Wait, what?

 

"Do you wish to appeal the decision?"

 

"No my lord, the decision is fair."

 

"Then it is settled!" Lord Royce says with a nod,  "Now, if you would begin?"

 

Jon stared quizzically at him for a moment before realizing he meant the apologies and quickly stood straight.

 

"My Lord Royce, please accept my humblest apologies for my fell deeds last evening. As a guest in your hold, my crimes were unforgivable, yet you in your unchallengeable mercy have seen fit to show forgiveness. May the Seven smile upon you this day."

 

He then turned to Ser Brynden.

 

"Ser Brynden, please accept my humblest apologies for my fell deeds last evening. My crimes were unforgiveable, more so because I came under your assurances and as your ward. My actions reflected poorly on you as my mentor, and I give thanks to the Old Gods that they saw fit to grant me so understanding a master."

 

Then comes Lord Turner.

 

"My Lord Turner-"

 

He casually removed his steel gauntlet, extending his right hand towards Jon

 

He stiffened as he realized his intentions.

 

"My Lord Turner-"

 

"Kiss it boy," says Lord Turner quietly "And show proper respect to an offended better."

 

Jon flushed in anger as his hand twitched to the dagger at his belt, only stilled by Ser Brynden's whisper of "Just do it." 

 

He stilled hinself, smiled politely and reached for his hand, kissing the back of it before raising his back and began his apology.

 

"My Lord Turner, I-"

 

He then backhanded Job, sending his head snapping leftwards. Ser Brynden rose to his feet in anger, his hand reaching for his blade as Lord Royce outstretches his hands between the two men. 

 

Jon returned his gaze to Lord Turner, the two of them exchanging hateful glares even as his nose bled freely. After a few seconds, he raised an eyebrow in questioning, in waiting.

 

And Jon smiled, a bloody smile.

 

And then he bowed.

 

"My Lord Turner, your beneficence and presence is a gift to us all. Before the Gods, both the Old and New-"

 

"-The True, Boy."

 

"I shall endeavour to remember your great kindness to me and only pray that I may repay you someday."

 

His upper lip curled as he looked upon Jon with disdain, bloodied nose, lips and gums.

 

Pray to your false gods, boy. Pray we don't meet again."

 

"Are you satisfied, Reginald?"

 

"Yes, Yohn. Most satisfied. May I be excused."

 

"Please. Excuse yourself."

 

"An awkward silence filled the room in the wake of his departure, before Jon turned his attention to Lord Harlton and bowed.

 

"Lord Harlton..."

******

The formal apologies done (with Ser Thornwood graciously offering him a linen handkerchief to wipe away some of the dripping blood), all exit except for Ser Byrnden and Lord Royce. Lord Royce stands almost uncomfortable looking at Jon, near-ashamed of Lord Turner's actions. He only waits to give him directions to the kitchens, makes a small apology regarding Turner's escalation and promises to make amends sooner or later.

 

As he left, Ser Brynden seated the two of them on a table and started wiping away more of the congealing blood, not saying much. A few minutes pass as he tried to clean him up, inspecting his nose and teeth for any breaks.

 

"You're lucky," he comments as he finishes up "No broken teeth or anything besides a sore nose."

 

"I'll give him a broken nose," he muttered indignantly.

 

"You'll do no such thing," Ser Brynden chides "especially when he was right."

 

His body bristled at that.

 

"Oh don't go panicking on me," Ser Brynden says casually "I could tell you were lying out of your ass the moment you started talking. You've ways to go before you top any of the tall tales Petyr used to spin in his youth. So... why'd you go snooping?"

 

"Wanted to know what was going on," he mumbl ed, "Especially after the hamlet."

 

"So that part was true," Ser Brynden said with a nod "I suppose I can't blame you for wanting to know more. Or for being able to get close enough to listen in, that's really on Yohn's men. But take today as a lesson. You can't go running around and not expect consequences for it."

 

"Yes sir."

 

"Good lad," he says with a clap of his shoulders "Now enjoy the potato peeling."

 

******

 

The next two days pass by agonizingly slow, perhaps the most tiring and boring days he had ever lived. Immediately after his discussion with Ser Brynden he found himself escorted to the kitchens, where an elderly matron directed him towards the mind-numbing tasking of potato peeling all day. With little company of his age besides three kitchen boys running around with ingredients for the various cooks and a dozen serving girls spending more time gossiping than working, he resolved to focus on his given tasks and finish them. By the time the night was done (with him skipping out on both the luncheon and dinner in the great hall in favour of delayed meals from the remains, he head to bed and fell into a deep sleep, his only knowledge of the day's events being regarding the victor of the squire's melee, won by Robar Royce. His father gifted him a cash prize and a budding courser, and he had spent the rest of the day running around with his friends and family around the bazaar. Or at least that's what he told Jon when he came down with Waymar, who amused himself by throwing potatoes at the help. Or at least, until the matron who had been directing Jon's work noticed and came down with him with all the fury of the Mother herself. The two beat a hasty retreat, with Robar shouting that he'd ask father to let him see the jousting tournament before he go.

 

However, Lord Royce doesn't allow it, for whatever reason. Perhaps he didn't want to seem lenient on Jon for what was admittedly a serious matter. Perhaps he didn't want to offend Lord Turner, who was after all one of his neighbours, a powerful lord from a house on the rise and more important than a mere bastard. Whatever the reason, he spent the majority of the day in the kitchens, preparing the foods of the night's dinner.

 

That is until, he heard shouting and screaming. He saw many of the guards near and around the kitchens rushing out to the castle courtyard. He joined some of the kitchen staff rushing behind them to see what is going on. They all paused by the gates of Runestone, transfixed by that which lay before them.

 

Runehold was on fire.


	25. The burning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Runehold/Runestone year 293 AC.

Runehold was on fire.

 

Not all of it, not even half, but a great deal of the wooden homes on the outskirts have been set ablaze, with the fires moving to encircle the tournament grounds where most of the nobility currently were, reaching deep into the harbour as Jon saw thin lines of fire erupt into existence, ships already burning up. This wasn't an accident. Someone planned this attack.

 

Even as he stared on, a pair of clearly wounded guards make their way to the gates, arrows sticking out of their bodies. The officer at the gate of Runestone shouts at them to halt, and they do so grudgingly.

 

"What in the name of the Seven happened?" the officer shouts with panic "Did some drums of pitch catch fire or something?"

 

"Tribesmen," the younger of the guards forced out "A dozen of them set fire around the exterior parts of the town, and it all just went up in fire. They must have been setting this up for days, weeks even. We killed five of them, but the rest tore into us and then made their escape. Damn savages."

 

"Gods be good, we'll make them pay." says the officer hesitantly before he turns to the mass of kitchen staff surrounding him "Right, you lot split into details of ten and get every damn bucket, pot, kettle and cup in the damn hold filled with water and out to put out the fires. You see any pitch not set on fire yet, dirty it up however way you can to make sure the fire doesn't spread to it. If you're younger than thirteen, split off to the side in groups of five. You're to fill the water from our supplies for people coming back and look to the wounded coming in. Marta, I want you to get Maester Helliweg if he's not on his way already, have him ready whatever remedies he has for burn victims, potions, poultices, whatever..."

 

His voice trails off as he notices no one moving into action.

 

"Did I fucking stutter? MOVE!", and so, everyone leapt into action.

 

Almost immediately Jon turned to the officer present, "Sir, I've given aid to wounded men before. Mayhaps I can be of use to the Maester?"

 

"Have you?" says the soldier almost sarcastically before waving him off "Yes, go wait for the Maester's arrival and attend to him."

 

To his credit, the maester arrived rather quickly, holding two rather heavy bandoliers of medicine and ingredients in his arms as three apprentices come right behind him with more in their own arms and on their persons. With a nod to the officer, he begins setting out his goods onto a cleared table, directing some of the youths to head in side and gather bedrolls and tables to seat injured victims on for operation or treatment. Jon took the opportunity to step up to him here.

 

"Lord Maester,"

 

"Piss off boy, we've got enough to worry about as it is," says one of his acolytes "So go help the others before I clap you one around the head."

 

"I've given aid to wounded men before," he repeated, speaking over the man and directly to the Maester himself "Let me help."

 

"Where have you worked," asks the Maester as he continues setting him up his materials, not sparing you a glance "Whom have you helped, boy?"

  
"On the deck of a ship," he replied. "The Storm Dancer. Pirates tried to take her, but were repelled. I helped treat the wounded and gave the deceased last rites."  
  
"A sister of silence it seems," the Maester says without mockery "And tell me, were any of those men burnt to the bone? Cooked as you would a boar or bull?"  
  
"No...", he spoke slowly as he thought back to his previous life, "But I've seen men burn before, Maester. I can help."  
  
"Then so be it," he says with a grunt as he uncorks jars of honey and dips clean brushes into them "But know that these people's lives will depend on you being what you say you are. Be ready, boy."  
  
It doesn't take long after that, only minutes for the first of the injured to come in. Some bleeding or with broken limbs from falling structures, but most smelling like cooked meats and charred or tanned from the heats of the fires. Jon went to attend to them but the Maester held him back with a sweep of his arm.  
  
"Watch first boy, then attend."  
  
He stepped forward with a bucket of cold water, noting the severity of the burns in certain areas compared to others. He shouted for one of his acolytes to bring bandages and honey to him as well, and dips a clean rag into the water, using to to clean off the most of the char residue on him. The man whimpers, but holds his tongue as the cool water soothes the burns. With deliberation, the maester grabs one of the brushes covered in honey and lightly coats the entirety of the burns before wrapping them in bandages. As the burn victim sighs in relief, he tells his acolytes to check on the bandages in half an hour if they have the time and if others don't need their attention. He tells the man to seat himself, and if he feels capable to help bring out more cold water later on. The man nods, and limps away to sit. The Maester then turned to Jon and told him to get to it.  
  
Jon grabbed a smaller bucket of cold water, threw a rag into it and took a minute jar of honey. With as little experience as he had, he didn't want to waste too much of it. And so he headed into the anarchic influx of burns and wounds.  
  
His first victim is a young boy of similar age to you, who introduced himself as Roderick Redthorn, bannerman to House Redfort of a cadet branch. His burns aren't too bad, and Jon told him so as he wrapped them lightly with cold, almost soggy bandages. He waited a minute or two with him as the burns cooled down, before coating him in honey and wrapping him up again. Seeing his burns to be minor in comparison to some coming in, he told him to go help fetch more cold water. He bristles at this, but Jon merely gestured with his eyes to the chaos around them and he noded, almost too scared to argue with a boy three years his younger.  
  
The second one is almost twice as bad, burns covering two thirds of his body. Jon almost had to hold in vomit from the smell of cooked flesh, but he held it in admirably. This one is a young serving girl from one of the taverns where the fires initially started, in a great deal of pain as he placed her on a free table and got to work. Unfortunately his hands are still a little unsteady as he noticed the severity of the burns, and he struggled to focus to address her burns properly. One of the acolytes comes over himself and made him reapply treatment, glowering at Jon as he did so. The girl was immediately bundled off the table, and told to seat herself somewhere and not make trouble.

  
The next is the worst by far from those he'd seen come in yet. It is Lord Humpfrey Harlton, almost unrecognizable under his charred and burnt visage. The acolyte immediately steps in here, shooing him off as he personally attended to Lord Harlton. Jon watched, trying to get a better understanding of how to do it right.  
  
As he looked on, one of Lord Royce's sworn swords comes stumbling in, burns covering the entirety of his right arm. Jon turned to him with haste, doing his best to attend to him while trying to take cues from those around him. He grew frustrated as Jon wrapped it too tightly but said nothing, waiting for him to finish before he goes to drink from the alcohol being used as anti-septic and for pain-dulling.  
  
  
As he walked off, Jon turned his attention again and spotted Waymar Royce, his hands lightly burnt. Jon rushed to him and quickly washed his hands with cold water to assuage the burn, coating them in soggy sage, mint and honey before wrapping them up. Jon nodded to him and told him to go find a place to sit and rest. His eyes teared up from the pain, even as he noded to Jon in thanks.

  
The next is Ser Radagast Thornwood, his chest reminiscent of the ribs served upon his  arrival to Runestone. Almost methodically, Jon stripped him of the remnants of his leathers and under shirt, slathering on the honey/sage/mint mix being pulped together by one of the acolytes and handed out. He curses at the coolness of it on the burn but says nothing, waiting for Jon to finish wrapping him in bandages before nodding and heading back out with a bucket of water in hand to help put out the fires.  
  
As he exited, so entered a young squire, who introduced himself as Harold Hardying. His burns are around the lesser end of those Jon has seen, but he still spared him enough attention to deal with his burns. Almost brusquely he told him to go fetch milk and mustard from the kitchens, bringing with him as much as possible. He stared at Jon quizzically, but shook his head and went in, calling at two of his family's sworn swords to join him.  
  
Nodding tiredly as he walked off, Jon is struck by what is almost a walking corpse, as he looked into the eyes of Andar Royce. Just about ready to fall into his arms, he direct him to one of the tables, where he quickly work on washing off as much of the char and placing compressed cold water bandages to his burns to soothe them. Running out of bandages, Jon shout to one of the other children present to get him more as he began slathering his incredibely burnt body with as much of the salves as he could manage. Just out of the corner of his vision, Jon saw that Hardying and his men have returned with the mustard and milk, looking at him for answers. Jon shout at them to distribute it amongst those running out of the honey mix or cold water, and to be used on those with lighter burns first. The bandages are thrown to him, and he began wrapping Andar as well as possible. As he tried to weakly stand up, Jon lightly pushed him down and told him to remain there.  
  
Feeling a small burst of energy, he rushed over to another of the men arriving and realize it is Lord Turner with a start. After a few moments of awkward tension, he told him to take off what he can without hurting himself or ripping open his burns. He does so, and Jon carefully, tensely take off the rest and begin applying the salves. So focused was Jon in his work and in ignoring who it was that he'd been working on that he finished cleanly and well, Lord Turner able to stand up and took command of the details from the officer present at the gates.  
  
  
  
That little burst of energy gone from his self-restraint during handling Lord Turner, he almost worked automatically as he worked on the next burn victim, an elderly knight known as Joris Landseer. He holds the pain in remarkably well as Jon worked, thanking him for his care before he shuffled off .  
  
  
It's been more than two hours and the short bursts of adrenaline after a long day of working the kitchens haven't done his general energy much good. Jon's almost yawning as he worked on this last victim , a young knight called Agravain Goldfoot. Constantly distracted, looking around the courtyard looking for his brother, he almost have to force him to sit still so that he can work. Jon eventually wrapped him up after fifteen minutes of work, but it's not his best work.  
  
Taking a short break to go wash his face and hands in some of the cold water separated specifically for this, he looked around and is struck by how many people are in the courtyard right now. Hundreds, most laid on the ground or hunched over somewhere awaiting treatment. Some moving between, the Maester and his acolytes, or heading out like most of the castle staff. A small group of soldiers, guarding the gates and listening to the directives of Lord Turner as he oversees the general efforts.  
  
But where is Ser Brynden? Lord Royce?

 

Jon didn't really noticed time passing by for the rest of the day, as he worked himself to the bone to attend to everyone. More victims came in for him and the maester's men to deal with, overall numbering in the hundreds. Those able to help do so, some helping with other burn victims and some heading out with water to help put out some of the fires. It's slow, hard work, but by nightfall most of the fires have been put out, and those still lingering are on their way. He's exhausted, covered in dried blood, pus, honey, soot and every other sort of bodily humour one can imagine but at least he's alive, hale and hearty. Which is more than what many can say today, either dead or maimed by the fires.  
  
Ser Brynden and Lord Royce made their return to Runstone proper a few hours ago, having been cut off much of the town as they were inspecting a tavern that had burnt down a night prior. When the flames roared into existence, they'd been forced to try and find away around through the mass of humanity that was fleeing their homes for high ground and safety. It's safe to say that most of the town will have to be condemned, the wooden portions torn down and rebuilt with stone, and those of stone examined for faults and replaced if need be. The fires themselves did not reach Runestone itself, which now stands alone in a great field of ash. Jon has already heard some refer to Lord Royce as the Lord of Ash.  
  
For his part, Lord Royce does not concern himself with saving face instead taking command of the efforts to save those still trapped within the destroyed town, as well as seeking to secure it. Most of his guests announce their intention to leave that very same night, concerned for their own fiefs and holdfasts. Lord Royce releases them and even his bannermen, keenly aware that he cannot keep them from their own people to aid his. As they leave, he noted Lord Turner and his son Devan mounted and armed as if ready for war, which he suppose this attack indicated. Neither shows him any attention as they left the two riding on the same horse. Ser Radagast Thornwood waved to Jon as he left, the man seemingly incapable of foul temper as he tried to cheer Lord Royce before he left.  
  
Ser Brynden however chooses to stay, keen to interrogate the men who had fought the tribesmen for information, and make plans to respond to whoever had ordered this attack. Though it goes unspoken, they both think it to be the fault of Ungren son of Stern, warlord in the west of the Vale. Surprisingly, Ser Brynden elects to send Jon to Winterfell, reasoning that there is little else he can do here that others cannot, and that Lord Stark will be worried for his personage when word spreads. He is sending Jon on with the remnants of his guard, to escort him south to Gulltown where the ship taking him to White Harbor awaits. Jon wanted to protest and asked to stay and help on, but Ser Brynden is resolute in his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter akin to a stopover.


	26. Visit to Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives at Winterfell, Year 294 AC early months.

Their party rode hard for Gulltown, sparing not the horses as they hastened onwards. As they entered the city three of the men escorted Jon directly to the ships, where a grumpy Manderly man took him onboard. The rest went off to go speak with Lord Grafton of the destruction of Runehold and no doubt some special orders from Ser Brynden. Seated in one of the guest cabins staring aimlessly at the walls as the ship prepared to cast off, Jon couldn’t help but sigh at the tumultuous days gone by. Hopefully his return trip to White Harbour would be safer than the departure.

 

Surprisingly (or perhaps ironically?), his travel to White Harbour proceeded without trouble. Neither pirates nor storms darkened their ship's travel, going past the Sisters in the Bite and into White Harbour as the ship docked. There he saw Jory Cassel, who escorted him with a protection detail of ten men to a river barge on the White-Knife, which is rowed to just south of Winterfell via a tributary and past Castle Cerwyn. Jon and his detail disembark there near a small river port, where a small herd of horses stabled await.

 

They rode easily and gaily to Winterfell itself, almost revelling in the comforting colds of the North and asking Jory and his men for recent news. They offered little besides that regarding his younger siblings, calling them all hale and hearty as befits children of House Stark. They say it warmly, with sturdy claps on his shoulders that only weigh on his heart.

 

As they ride through the gatehouse of Winterfell, a smile makes itself known on his face. Almost three years had passed and Winterfell is as gloriously great as it always was, in fact better. A bastion of rock and ice, the very glory of House Stark and the North itself. He could see that a wooden palisade encircling the Winter-Town had come up, no doubt to give a semblance of boundary to now ever-burgeoning town which was less than a village during the last summer. The party slowed their horses down before the awaiting hosts, and Jon almost leapt down from his horse in glee. It’s hardly been a year since he’d last seen his family but it almost felt like a lifetime.

 

"Hodor!"  
  
And it seem Hodor agreed, as he come up in front of Jon, picking him up in a great bear hug that would as soon as break Jon’s back as a fall off a Winterfell tower.

 

"I missed you too Hodor," Jon wheeze out "But I need to breathe!"

 

“Hodor!" he says by way of apology as he set him down.

 

"Jon!" shouts Robb as he launched himself into Jon, tackling him into the summer snows that already coat the grounds of Winterfell with ease. He hugged him in turn, before loosening his grip and the two of them took the measure of the other, sizing each other up after three long years of absence from one another.

 

"Snow.”

 

"Stark."

 

Almost unanimously, great grins break on both their faces as they hug once again. Across two lifetimes, Robb might be his cousin in fact, but will always be his brother.

 

The joyous greetings done and dusted, Jon then greet Sam who to his surprise had gained quite a few inches of height. Despite not being as skinny as Robb or Jon himself, he seemed a lot taller than Jon remembered him. He seem to have  settled quite well in the North, which made Jon immensely proud of his decision of having brought him to Winterfell.

 

No sooner had he had turned his back on Sam that Arya ran into him, almost throwing him backwards. Though Lady Stark clearly disapproved, the amused expression on her face told otherwise. Sansa was her usual charming self, clearly delighted to have her brother back, if only for a few days. Bran had got over his shyness he was showing in Riverrun last year and was practically bouncing on his feet, while waiting for his turn.

 

Finally, he turned to Lord Stark.

 

"...Father," he said, "You look well."

 

"And you as well," he said gruffly, bringing him in for a quick hug.

 

The next few days passed quickly, as he regaled his friends and family with tales of his adventures in the Vale. Most they already know but hear again from him personally, including tales of the Eyrie and it's denizens, the pirate attack at sea, and more recently the battle of the hamlet, the tourney of Runestone and burning of Runehold. These last three alarm Lord Stark, and the look he gives Lady Stark implies there may be some discussion about Jon staying there in the long term. Robb and Sam seemed suitably jealous of him having been witness to an actual battle, and the three of them (with Hodor) wound up replaying it with many of the children running around Winterfell. Sansa only watched along with Jeyne Poole, the two cheering him on as he battled Robb and Sam, who played the role of the tribal warlords and Jon as Ser Brynden. Jon keenly felt a small gulf between him and them in this regard, something built over three years of physical distance. They practiced archery and sword fighting under the attention of Winterfell's master at arms, and snuck around again with all his friends to greater schemes than ever before. It's only hours into the first full day at Winterfell and already the staff was cursing his name as if he was eight years old again.

 

Still, such mischievousness only reflected poorly on Jon as a "respected squire", or so Robb dubbed him. The tale of his spying on Lord Royce had all his friends aghast at his daring, and furious at Lord Turner. Robb in particular swore a vow that no Turner shall be welcome in Winterfell as long as he is lord, something he stuck to resolutely.

 

Still, it is not all fun and good cheer. His knowledge of the past and the changes apparent in the present made sure of that. Both armoured and weighted with said knowledge, he made his way to Lord Stark's offices during the fourth day of his visit, asking to speak with him. He nodded at him, finishing up writing a missive to Lord Manderly about something or another and asked Jon to sit. After finishing his letter, the two started talking. His father started by telling him that with the steady arrival of sand from Dorne, the production of glass houses has picked up exponentially having a cascading affect in their foodgrain production. The chief and primary beneficiaries have been the newly made lords of Stony Shore and Sea Dragon Point, which are already on their way to overshadow the main lines of their respective houses at Torrehn’s Square and Deepwood Motte. Seeing their success had prompted House Ryswell and Lady Dustin to make overtures couple of year past lest they were left behind by the two newly raised masterly houses and had since reaped great benefits for their initiative. The cadet branch of House Karstark at Queenscrown is also prospering and are playing host to several families from Mountain Clans of the North which is perhaps the only place in the North where they have encountered difficulty in setting up Glass houses.

 

When asked about Bear Island, his father became solemn and replied that despite increase in its income, its Lord Jorah Mormont was found guilty of selling wildlings into slavery. What was worse that he’d made use of some ships that formed part of the newly raised Northern Fleet bearing Stark banners. To hear his father say it, Jon could understand his anger and shame because unlike in past Jorah had consciously ventured beyond the Wall, taking some mini longships via the Ice river and helped Essosi slavers capture several Wildlings for selling them into slavery. However, none felt the shame caused by it as severely as the Lord Commander of Night’s Watch. It had taken personal convincing from Eddard Stark to stop him from relinquishing his post. Things have since calmed down near the Bay of Ice with Lady Maege Mormont having taken the mantle of the Lord of Bear Island.

 

His father then told him that in his absence he had taken to perusing his notes about his past life and was left wondering why Jon hadn’t brought his attention to the mayhem caused by the Bastard of Bolton. Come to think over it, Jon himself was surprised over it, though, he wondered whether it was the trauma over his death caused by the letter he received from Ramsay, which made him gloss over that detail. Musing aloud on the question, Jon asked his father to bring a map of his dominion.

 

Looking over the map, Jon offered that while the Northern, Western and Southern quarters of the North were firmly under Stark control, it was imperative for them that Dreadfort be brought under heel, to which his father countered that he couldn’t very well invade the Bolton lands without any apparent cause for complain. Thinking aloud Jon said that Ramsay gained power only once Domeric Bolton, heir to Dreadfort passed away in sickness. His father seemed to recall that Domeric was once a paige to Lady Barbery Dustin before being sent to Redfort to squire under Lord Horton Redfort. Recalling a certain trivia he’d heard while in Vale, Jon promised to keep an eye on him to decide whether he would be an worthy ally to House Stark in future or not.

 

His father surprised Jon by stating that he intend to betroth Robb to Alys Karstark in a couple of year’s time and has initiated correspondence with Lord Karstark on the same issue. When Jon asked as to why, he replied that while going through his notes he thought about it often and eventually came to the conclusion that he cannot afford for Robb to commit the same mistakes that he did earlier. While, Robb is everything he could have asked in an heir he would prefer not to have another Southern Lady as a Lady of Winterfell and the Karstarks are as northern as the Stark themselves. Besides, by marrying Alys, any resentment held by his bannermen over the southern marriages brokered by his own Lord Father in the time past will be nipped in the bud.

 

On the Northern front, his father told him that with repair work fully completed at Westwatch by the bridge, Sentinel Stand, Queensgate, Oakenshield and Greenguard, the castles are now properly garrisoned with trained men-at-arms in addition to Castle Black, Shadow Tower and Eastwatch by the Sea. The builders and woodworkers have now moved to Greyguard, Stonedoor, Icemark, Woodswatch-by-the-pool, Sable Hall, Long Barrow and The Torches. He expected the work to be over by end of the new year and then they would move to remaining Castles of Hoarfrost Hill, Deep Lake, Rimegate and lastly Nightfort.

 

Jon was pleasantly surprised to hear it and asked about the incurred cost of such massive exercise, to which his father shrugged and said that with increase in their own food production they have stopped importing foodgrains from the South and increased traffic from Neck as well as trade from various ports in the North has increased their revenue which they have been allowed to pay less taxes courtesy Wyman Manderly. Further, the fact that they have found a great demand for the exotic goods procured from beyond the Wall in Bravos hasn’t hurt their coffers. Watching the play of emotions on Jon’s face, he further added without asking that he shouldn’t belittle himself, for a Lord Paramount and Warden has wider reach and resources than the Lord Commander of Nights Watch and it was a different and difficult time where the decisions made by him did not gain much traction with all the parties involved.

 

******

 

A few more days of gaiety and good cheer pass as Jon played with friends, family and Sam. He tried to enjoy himself as much as he could, but secrets weigh upon him, his heritage hidden from Robb, Sam and the others or his possession of Dark Sister and probably Blackfyre. He wondered a little what it would be like to tell Lady Stark or his other uncle Benjen, now First Ranger of the Night's Watch. To not see the bitterness in her eyes, or to his own light up. Would they light up? Lord Stark had said that they were very close, and he had been nothing but kind to Jon whenever he met him prior.

 

Ultimately, his visit must came to an end after a month of merriment. His things were packed, a river boat intent towards White Harbour prepared, and Lord Manderly informed ahead of time. Considering how genial the man has been in dealing with such a petty request, Jon imagined he should probably meet him personally at some point to thank him, or give him some sort of a gift. A gift for the richest man in the North? That might take a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. After lurking and stalking different fanfiction sites for past few months, I'm finally putting up my work. Please be kind. Positive criticism will be appreciated.


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